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CUPID,  M.D. 


CUPID,  M.D. 


H Stor^ 


AUGUSTUS  M.  SWIFT 


NEW  YORK 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS 

1888 


Copyright  by 

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CUPID,  M,D, 


I 


I. 

Eliot  Blake  to  John  Wykeham. 

The  Hygienic  Hotel,  Dudington,  Middlesex,  W., 

January  i6,  1878. 

Dear  Jack : 

I was  very  sorry  to  miss  you  when  I called 
yesterday  at  the  Albany.  You  were  right. 
Daubeny  said  I was  in  a very  critical  state, 
and  advised  me  to  leave  town  at  once  and  place 
myself  under  some  physician  who  could  devote 
himself  to  me.  He  recommended  this  place 
very  highly  for  my  purpose,  and  said  it  had 
quite  a reputation  for  just  such  cases  as  mine. 
At  the  same  time  he  said  it  was  a very  pecu- 
liar place,  and  not  exactly  orthodox,  medically 
speaking.  I don’t  care  a rap  about  that, 
though. 


2 


CUPID,  M.D, 


I left  on  the  five  o’clock  train  from  Pad- 
dington, arriving  here  in  time  for  a very  de- 
cent dinner.  It  is  a queer  place,  upon  my 
word.  The  village  is  very  commonplace  and 
suburban,  at  least  what  I saw  of  it  in  driv- 
ing from  the  station.  The  Hygienic  Hotel, 
as  they  call  it,  is  a large  brick  building.  I 
have  never  been  in  the  States,  but  it  strikes 
me  as  being  somewhat  American  in  size  and 
character — a palace  hotel  on  a small  scale. 
They  have  put  me  into  a room  where  I can 
be  comfortable  enough,  and  two  hours  hence 
I have  an  appointment  with  one  of  the  doc- 
tors, who  seems  to  be  a man  of  good  sense. 
The  head  man  and  owner  of  the  place,  Dr. 
Martin,  is  away. 

Of  course  I am  in  a desperate  condition — I 
am  well  aware  of  that.  I shall  not  be  deterred 
by  the  gloomy  look  of  this  place  from  staying, 
if  I am  once  assured  of  cure  or  improvement. 
But  you  alone,  old  man,  know  what  it  costs  me 


CUPID,  M.D. 


3 


to  leave  town  just  now.  I knew  that  if  I hesi- 
tated I should  never  get  off,  so  I plunged.  By 
the  way,  will  you  drop  in  at  Mr.  Gordon’s 
office  in  Queen  Anne  Street  and  tell  him  where 
I am  ? It  will  save  me  writing,  and  there  may 
be  trouble  about  the  Welsh  coal-mine.  And 
please  pay  up  my  tick  at  the  Club  with  the 
enclosed  cheque  which  I have  signed.  And — 
do  me  the  favor  of  going  to  Solomon's,  where  I 
have  an  account,  and  ordering  something  very 
handsome  in  the  way  of  flowers  for  Miss  Patti* 
son.  As  you  know,  the  Pattisons  are  staying 
at  Fisher's  Hotel,  Conduit  Street.  Of  course, 
you  will  say  at  once  that  you  have  reached  the 
one  important  thing  in  my  letter.  But  don't 
chaff  on  this  subject,  old  fellow.  I leave  the 
flowers  to  you,  merely  remarking  that  she  is 
fond  of  Marechal  Niels,  though  she  says  they 
are  finer  in  America. 

This  is  a sad  ending  of  it  all,  Jack,  after 
twenty-eight  gay  and  joyous  years.  But  I 


4 


CUPID,  M,D, 


must  not  get  down  in  the  mouth.  To-morrow 
I will  let  you  know  what  the  doctors  say. 

Ever  yours, 

Eliot  Blake. 


CUPID,  M.D. 


5 


Eliot  Blake  to  John  Wykeham. 

Dudington,  January  17,  187S. 

Dear  Jack : 

Since  I wrote  yesterday  I have  seen  the  doc- 
tors. I begged  them  not  to  conceal  anything 
from  me.  They  told  me  it  would  take  months 
of  unflinching  resolution  and  courage  to  get 
the  better  of  the  morphia.  They  - said  that 
when  a man  was  taking  as  much  as  I am  now, 
it  was  almost  impossible  to  stop  suddenly,  and 
might  prove  fatal.  They  evidently  know  all 
about  the  subject,  and  somehow  I feel  great 
confidence  in  them.  If  I am  ever  to  be  my 
old  self  again,  and  overcome  this  terrible  curse, 
I must  make  a regular  business  of  it  in  some 
such  place  as  this.  I have  half  made  up  my 


6 


CUPID,  M.D, 


mind  to  stay.  I am  sure  you  would  advise 
me  to  stay,  and  if  my  sister  knew  how  serious 
it  has  become,  she  would  too. 

These  men  told  me  it  would  be  perfect  mad- 
ness to  try  and  keep  up  my  former  mode  of 
life.  Dr.  Peck,  who  is  in  charge  here  now, 
during  Dr.  Martin’s  absence,  told  me  that  if  I 
kept  up  the  morphia  at  this  rate,  I should  pull 
up  in  an  insane  asylum  within  eighteen  months. 
Horrible,  isn’t  it  ? At  the  same  time  he  en- 
couraged me  somewhat*  I gave  them  a com- 
plete history  of  my  illness.  The  other  man. 
Dr.  Rich,  took  notes  of  it  all.  He  is  to  have 
special  care  of  me,  if  I stay.  I told  them  that 
two  years  ago,  before  my  accident,  I had 
scarcely  ever  tasted  any  form  of  opium.  They 
said  that  was  good,  as,  in  that  case,  the  drug 
would  not  have  such  a hold  upon  me,  not- 
withstanding my  enormous  daily  dose.  They 
examined  my  eyes  very  carefully,  and  asked 
me  any  quantity  of  questions.  I told  them  how 


CUPID,  M.D. 


7 


I was  given,  in  the  earlier  part  of  my  illness, 
an  eighth  of  a grain  of  morphia  every  night, 
and  that  this  soon  grew  into  one-fourth  of  a 
grain ; then,  how  they  began  with  the  hypoder- 
mic needle  as  my  sufferings  increased,  and  how 
the  habit  began  to  grow.  Not  even  to  you 
have  I ever  divulged  the  truth — i.  e,,  the  whole 
truth  about  my  daily  dose.  The  fact  of  the 
matter  is,  that  the  quantity  I am  now  taking 
hypodermically,  they  estimate  as  about  equiv- 
alent to  sixty-four  grains  of  sulphate  of  mor- 
phia taken  by  the  mouth.  This  is  how  it  is  : I 
use  Magendie’s  solution,  which  contains  six- 
teen grains  to  every  ounce  of  water ; and  I use 
up  about  an  ounce  and  a half  or  more  daily. 

I don’t  know.  Jack,  whether  you  can  quite  re- 
alize what  frightful  figures  these  are.  A small 
part  of  my  daily  allowance  would  knock  you  to 
the  end  of  time.  The  reason  of  the  greater 
value  of  the  subcutaneous  dose  is  very  appar- 
ent ; the  morphia  passes  at  once  into  the  blood, 


8 


CUPID,  M,D. 


strong  and  pure,  without  being  assimilated  by 
digestion  ; and  morphia,  as  you  are  doubtless 
aware,  is  far  stronger  than  laudanum.  I will  not 
weary  you  with  statistics,  but  my  dose  now  is 
just  about  equal  to  De  Quincey’s  in  his  period 
of  greatest  indulgence. 

It  seems  to  me,  now  that  I write  It  all  down, 
that  the  horrible  truth  has  never  before  been 
realized  by  me.  God  only  knows  what  will 
become  of  me.  For  pity's  sake  write  to  me. 
Do  stand  by  me,  old  man.  It  seems  a sort  of 
blasphemy,  almost,  to  speak  of  Miss  Pattison 
to-day.  If  you  have  not  ordered  the  flowers  I 
spoke  of  yesterday,  perhaps  you  had  better 
not.  In  my  present  degraded  state  I feel  very 
far  removed  from  that  lovely  girl.  I am  glad  I 
never  said  anything  special  to  her. 

I cannot  write  more.  Indeed,  I could  not 
write  this  much,  were  I not  primed  with  that 
accursed  drug.  Do  write. 

Ever  yours, 


Eliot  Blake. 


CUPID,  M.D. 


9 


III. 

John  Wykeham  to  Eliot  Blake. 

The  Albany,  January  19,  1878. 

My  Dear  Blake : 

Your  letters  have  filled  me  with  deep  con- 
cern. I went  at  once  to  consult  Daubeny,  and 
begged  him  to  tell  rrie  just  what  he  thought  of 
your  condition.  He  said  it  was  impossible  to 
tell  whether  you  would  get  well  or  not — it  all 
depended  upon  your  strength  of  will.  I tell 
you  this  in  cold  blood,  Eliot,  not  palliating  the 
gravity  of  it,  in  the  hope  that  I may  help  you 
to  realize  that  you  must  make  a desperate  effort. 
I told  Daubeny  that  your  will  was  naturally 
strong,  but  he  said  that  opium  enfeebled  the 
will  to  such  an  extent  that  this  was  not  to  be 
depended  upon.  In  fact,  he  gave  me  to  under- 


10 


CUPID,  M,D. 


stand  that  you  are  in  a frightful  state.  My 
dear  old  chap,  I am  not  going  to  reproach  you 
with  your  imprudence,  or  with  having  kept  all 
this  from  me,  your  oldest  and  truest  friend. 
The  thing  to  be  done  now  is  to  help  you  in  this 
dire  strait.  I believe  you  can  pull  through. 
For  the  present,  keep  up  a good  heart,  and  do 
precisely  what  they  tell  you.  Daubeny  says 
it  is  an  excellent  place  for  you.  As  soon  as  I 
can  manage  it  I shall  come  and  pay  you  a little 
visit  at  Dudington. 

I have  attended  most  gladly  to  your  various 
requests.  Mr.  Gordon  says  your  affairs  are 
in  excellent  shape,  and  he  anticipates  no  trou- 
ble from  the  coal  mine.  I sent  the  flowers 
to  Miss  Pattison,  as  I thought  you  would 
prefer  it  on  the  whole.  To-morrow  I lunch 
with  them,  and  we  go  to  some  concert  or 
other.  I will  report  to  you.  You  are  greatly 
missed  at  the  Club,  where  I paid  up  your  tick, 
£6  IIS. 


CUPID,  M,D. 


II 


Now  cheer  up,  and  stick  to  your  purpose. 
Remember  I will  stand  by  you. 

Yours,  as  always, 

Jack. 


12 


CUPID,  M,D. 


John  Wykeham  to  Eliot  Blake. 

The  Albany,  January  20,  1878. 

Dear  Blake : 

I have  been  with  the  Pattisons  a large  part 
of  the  day.  I must  say  I admire  your  taste, 
old  fellow,  as  she  is  quite  the  loveliest  girl  I 
ever  saw.  I hear,  though,  that  these  American 
beauties  don’t  last ; but  she  shows  no  signs  yet 
of  going  off,  and  she  must  be  quite  twenty-one 
or  two.  Of  course  we  talked  much  of  you  ; 
she  expressed  the  greatest  sympathy  for  you, 
though  not  knowing  (I  need  scarcely  say)  the 
true  nature  of  your  trouble.  She  seems  to  like 
you  very  much,  and  your  Mar^chal  Niels  were 
in  a post  of  honor.  Indeed,  I think  she  wore 
some  in  her  dress,  which  was  a work  of  art, 


CUPID,  M,D, 


13 


though  extremely  simple.  American  women 
certainly  know  how  to  dress.  I think  they  go 
ahead  of  their  men  in  this  respect. 

Old  Pattison  is  not  half  a bad  fellow.  He 
says  he  knows  this  Dr.  Martin,  the  head  of 
your  Sanitarium,  or  whatever  they  call  it,  and 
that  he  is  a very  fine  physician,  even  if  some- 
what eccentric.  It  seems  that  Dr.  Martin  went 
out  to  the  States  two  or  three  years  ago, 
and  they  met  there.  Mr.  Pattison  is  suffering 
with  sciatica,  and  I have  recommended  him  to 
Daubeny.  Mrs.  Pattison  seemed  very  unwil- 
ling to  leave  him,  but,  finally,  we  all  started 
off  for  St.  James’s  Plall.  The  concert  was 
very  good,  and  they  enjoyed  it.  This  young 
woman  has  a soul  for  music,  I can  tell  you, 
Eliot ; and  if  you  get  a chance,  you  must  sing 
to  her. 

I dine  out  to-night,  so  this  note  must  be 
brief.  Write  me  a line,  telling  me  just  how 
you  are,  and  what  the  doctors  have  decided 


,14 


CUPID,  M,D. 


upon.  Can  I send  you  anything  ? Books  ? or 
a hamper  from  Fortnum  & Mason's  ? Don't 
forget  to  write.  Yours, 


Jack. 


CUPID y M,D. 


15 


V. 

Eliot  Blake  to  John  Wykeham. 

Dudington,  January  25,  1878. 

My  Dear  Jack : 

Your  letters  have  been  a real  help  to  me.  I 
have  quite  made  up  my  mind  about  the  mor- 
phia. Hitherto  they  have  made  no  change  in 
my  daily  practice  ; but  to-day  they  reduce  the 
dose  for  the  first  time,  taking  off  one  entire 
grain.  Of  course  they  cannot  reduce  at  that 
rate  very  long,  but  they  tell  me  I shall  scarcely 
feel  it  at  the  very  first,  and  three  days  hence 
they  take  off  another  grain.  I can  tell  you  one 
thing — the  moral  effect  of  any  such  effort  is 
good.  I feel  already  as  if  I could  do  it,  but  I 
must  not  be  too  confident,  for  they  do  not  dis- 
guise from  me  that  I can  scarcely  realize  what 


i6 


CUPID,  M.D. 


may  be  ahead  of  me.  They  are  singularly 
frank  with  me.  I like  this  Dr.  Peck,  who  is 
a very  plain,  straightforward  person  ; and  the 
other  doctor,  who  has  the  special  care  of  my 
case,  is  quite  a remarkable  man.  As  you 
know,  I am  not  a very  easy  fellow  to  manage  ; 
but  he  seems  to  have  got  hold  of  me  by  in- 
stinct. He  has  told  me  frankly  that,  in  such 
cases  as  mine,  they  rarely  let  the  patient  know 
the  gravity  of  his  situation.  Their  object,  I 
fancy,  is  to  lead  the  patient  on  until  they  get 
complete  control  over  him,  and  he  finds  him- 
self unable  to  get  away  from  them.  Now,  as 
you  know,  I should  be  very  apt  to  kick  were  I 
not  dealt  with  in  an  open  and  straightforward 
manner.  Dr.  Rich  seems  to  have  discovered 
this,  and,  accordingly,  he  has  already  gained 
considerable  influence  over  me. 

The  place  itself  is  not  particularly  attractive. 
I take  all  my  meals  in  my  own  room.  They 
are  quite  good  enough,  and  you  need  not  trou* 


CUPID,  M.D. 


17 


ble  to  send  anything  in  the  way  of  delicacies. 
But  your  suggestion  about  the  books  is  a 
good  one.  Send  me  a lot — poetry  and  novels. 
You  can  get  at  them  at  my  rooms.  I have 
almost  nothing  to  do  here.  The  house  is  sur- 
rounded by  a large  verandah,  where  I take  a 
solitary  constitutional  every  afternoon.  I can- 
not bear  any  one’s  society  nowadays.  You 
could  never  guess  how  unhappy  I am. 

Unhappy!  ah,  Jack,  worse  than  that.  I am 
debased,  degraded,  dishonored  by  this  ac- 
cursed poison.  For  over  two  hours  I have  had 
none,  and  now  must  load  up  again.  My  arms 
are  almost  callous  now  from  using  this  hypo- 
dermic needle  so  much.  But  I fear  my  whole 
moral  nature  is  becoming  callous,  too  ; for  I 
feel  that  I must  own  up  to  you.  Jack — to  my 
sorrow  and  shame  I say  it — that  in  one  matter 
I have  deceived  you.  When  I said  in  my  let- 
ter the  other  day  that  I was  glad  I had  never 
said  anything  in  the  way  of  love-making  to 


l8 


CUPID,  M.D. 


Miss  Pattison,  I told  you  a lie.  A week  before 
I left  town  I proposed  to  her,  a7id  she  refused 
me. 

I have  owned  up  to  you  now,  and  I feel 
easier  on  that  score.  But  I leave  you  to  guess 
what  I suffer.  There  can  be  little  hope  for 
such  a wreck  as  I have  made  myself.  Good- 
by.  Yours, 

Eliot  Blake. 


CUPID,  M.D. 


19 


VI. 


John  Wykeham  to  Eliot  Blake. 


The  Albany,  February  i,  1878. 

Dear  Blake : 

I have  thought  many  times,  since  receiving 
your  last  letter,  of  starting  at  once  for  Duding- 
ton.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  leave  town 
now,  as  my  case  about  that  right  of  way  over 
Aylesford  Common  comes  up  next  week,  and 
there  is  a great  deal  of  local  excitement  over  it. 
So  I must  express  my  sympathy  with  you  on 
paper  only.  My  dear  Eliot,  you  have  indeed 
made  a terrible  mess  of  it.  Whatever  pos- 
sessed you  to  propose  to  a girl  like  that,  crip- 
pled as  you  are  ? Do  you  think  she  is  of  the 
sort  that  drops  into  one^s  mouth  like  a ripe 
peach  ? I suppose  you  thought  (if  you  thought 


20 


CUPID,  M.D. 


at  all)  that  your  fortune  and  your  family 
position  were  enough  for  you  to  fall  back 
upon  ; and  undoubtedly  there  are  plenty  of 
English  girls  who  would  have  you,  on  a very 
short  acquaintance,  for  the  asking  ; but  not 
Miss  Lily  Pattison.  I say  nothing  of  your 
recklessness  in  asking  her  at  all  when  you  are 
under  the  ban  of  a habit  which  you  yourself 
denounce  in  such  strong  terms.  Goodness  ! 
Do  understand,  Blake,  that  in  your  present 
condition  I should  be  the  last  man  to  blame 
you.  But  you  are  a man  of  such  shrewdness, 
you  know  women  so  well,  and  you  have  such 
a knowledge  of  the  world  into  the  bargain, 
that  I cannot  refrain  from  expressing  a little 
surprise,  that's  all. 

I am  truly  sorry  for  the  whole  state  of 
things.  She  is  a lovely  girl,  and  I wish,  with 
all  my  heart,  you  might  have  married  her.  I 
shall  look  upon  her'  with  redoubled  interest 
now,  as  I believe  you  never  before  quite 


CUPID,  M,D. 


21 


screwed  yourself  up  to  the  proposing  point. 
But  put  this  all  aside,  my  dear  fellow  ; you 
may  depend  it  is  all  a passing  fancy,  and 
probably  the  girl  herself  has  half  a dozen 
lovers,  or  would-be  lovers,  in  Red  Gulch,  or 
Chunkville,  or  some  other  pleasant  village  of 
the  western  wilds.  It  wouldn’t  be  a bad  thing 
for  you  to  be  hard  up  for  a little  while,  as  I 
can  unaffectedly  say  I am  at  the  present 
moment.  A brief  course  of  impecuniosity 
would  do  you  good.  There  is  as  much  sport 
in  staving  off  a dun  as  in  landing  a big  salmon  ; 
in  fact,  the  dun  is  rather  the  gamier  of  the  two. 

Poor  old  chap  ! I mustn’t  make  fun  when 
you  are  so  low.  This  is  all  very  far  from  a 
joke  ; and  I know  you  will  appreciate  my 
anxiety  when  I tell  you  that  I wrote  to  Lady 
Gore  about  you  to-day.  Now  don’t  scold  me  ; 
I have  always  understood  that  your  sister  was 
your  only  relative  for  whom  you  really  cared  ; 
and  I took  it  upon  myself  to  tell  her  where  you 


22 


CUPID,  M.D. 


were,  and  to  say  a few  indefinite  words  about 
your  condition.  I had  to  write  to  her  anyhow, 
for  she  kindly  asked  me  to  Leighton  for  next 
week,  when  she  has  theatricals.  Of  course  I 
cannot  go. 

This  is  a pretty  long  letter  for  me,  but 
before  I stop  I must  urge  upon  you,  with  all 
the  force  of  which  I am  capable,  stick  to  it. 
I mean,  stick  to  your  determination  to  get  rid 
of  this  horrible  opium.  As  I said  before,  and 
as  you  have  every  reason  to  believe  from  our 
years  together  in  the  past,  you  have  a firm 
friend  in  me,  and  for  the  matter  of  that  in 
many  others.  Now  that  you  are  in-  trouble, 
there  is  all  the  more  reason  why  I should  stand 
by  you. 

Now  keep  up  a good  heart ! I sent  any 
quantity  of  books  to*day. 

Ever  yours, 

Jack. 


CUPID,  M.D. 


23 


VII. 

Eliot  Blake  to  John  Wykeham. 

Dudington,  February  3,  1878. 

My  Dear  Jack : 

I must  say,  much  as  I valued  your  letter  on 
some  accounts,  that  I was  a little  bit  put  out  by 
it.  A passing  fancy  ! Upon  my  word  I like 
that.  If  you  ever  fall  in  love,  you  will  enjoy 
having  some  one  speak  about  your  ‘^passing 
fancy/'  Why,  Jack,  the  moment  I saw  that 
girl  I lost  my  heart  to  her.  I grant  you  it  was 
madness  to  propose  to  her — of  course  in  your 
eyes  it  was  the  act  of  a fool.  But  I couldn't 
help  it — as  children  say.  I had  a vague  idea 
of  getting  her  to  give  me  some  sort  of  chance, 
some  period  of  probation,  as  it  were,  and  then 
hiding  myself  in  some  such  place  as  this  until 


24 


CUPID,  M.D. 


I could  conquer  this  terrible  habit.  But  the 
truth  is,  that  reason  had  no  voice  in  the  matter. 
It  was  an  irresistible  impulse.  The  very  first 
time  I ever  saw  her,  as  I say,  I made  up  my 
mind  that  there  was  the  one  woman  for  me.  I 
don’t  know  what  is  meant  by  love  at  first  sight 
(unless  I am  myself  an  exemplification  of  it ; 
love,  of  the  highest  and  best  kind,  must  grow 
to  its  fulness),  yet  when  I saw  that  girl  the 
curious  sentiment  she  inspired  me  with  was  not 
mere  admiration  or  interest ; I heard  for  the 
first  time  the  inner  voice  that  whispers  my 
Wife, 

Now  that  I know  her  better,  I am  at  no  loss 
to  understand  why  my  first  instinct  should  have 
been  so  strong.  But  I am  not  yet  defeated. 
When  I asked  her  to  marry  me,  that  day,  she 
turned  those  great  dusky  eyes  on  me,  with  in- 
finite surprise  and  scorn,  and  said  ‘‘  Are  you 
insane  ? ” She  shall  change  her  tune  yet.  I 
am  about  as  low  as  I can  well  be,  but  I have 


CUPID,  M,D. 


25 


resolved  to  devote  all  my  soul  and  strength  to 
winning  her.  I am  certain  I can  succeed  if  I 
only  once  get  free  from  this  opium.  Plenty  of 
people  have  loved  me  whose  love  I scarcely 
valued ; am  I to  fail  with  this  chosen  girl  of 
my  heart?  I have  told  Gordon  to  sell  off  all 
the  horses,  and  they  are  to  be  advertised  at 
Tattersall’s  next  week.  I wish  to  goodness 
I hadn't  lived  beyond  my  means  to  such  an 
extent.  But  it  can't  be  helped  now.  I am 
certain  she  has  no  lovers  in  America.  In 
fact,  she  as  good  as  told  me  so.  Red  Gulch  ! 
Chunkville  ! Let  me  tell  you  they  are  persons 
of  excellent  social  position,  and  have  a place 
on  the  Hudson  River,  which  is  one  of  the  best 
localities,  I believe. 

I am  sorry  you  wrote  to  Clara,  but  never 
mind.  She  and  Gore  will  probably  come  post- 
ing on  here.  I don't  want  to  see  anybody  until 
I have  in  some  measure  redeemed  myself. 
They  took  off  another  whole  grain  to-day,  but 


26 


CUPID,  M.D. 


I can’t  say  I feel  it  much  yet.  I suppose  I 
shall,  soon  enough.  Well,  good-by  for  to- 
day. Somehow  I feel  more  hopeful  than  I 
did.  Write  soon. 


Ever  yours, 

Eliot  Blake. 


CUPID,  M.D. 


27 


VIIL 

/ 

John  Wykeham  to  Eliot  Blake. 

The  Albany,  February  7,  1878. 

Dear  Blake : 

I have  only  time  for  a line,  but  I think  you 
ought  to  be  informed  that  the  Pattison  party  go 
to  Dudington  this  week.  It  seems  that  the  old 
gentleman  gets  his  back  up  every  little  , while, 
and  they  can't  do  anything  with  him.  He  has 
a great  liking  for  this  Dr.  Martin,  of  your 
Sanitarium,  and  Daubeny  told  me  to-day  that 
he  had  quite  made  up  his  mind  to  go  there  for 
his  sciatica,  and  take  the  baths,  and  all  that. 
So  I write  to  inform  you. 

I called  at  their  hotel  this  afternoon,  and 
saw  Miss  Pattison.  She  seemed  very  nervous 
and  unlike  herself,  and  asked  if  you  were  still 


28 


CUPID,  M.D. 


at  Dudington.  I told  her  you  were  likely  to 
be  there  for  some  time  to  come.  Then  she 
asked  where  Lady  Gore  was,  and  a number  of 
other  questions.  We  spoke  a good  deal  of  you, 
and  when  I explained  to  her  that  we  had  been 
schoolboys  together,  and  were  very  intimate, 
she  asked,  How  intimate  ? ” I looked  at  her 
pretty  steadily  and  said,  About  as  intimate  as 
two  men  well  can  be.  We  scarcely  ever  had  a 
secret.''  Then  she  turned  very  pale,  and  I rose 
to  go,  not  wishing  to  embarrass  her.  You 
have  evidently  made  an  impression  upon  her 
of  some  kind,  even  if  she  did  refuse  you. 
Well,  to  Dudington  she  goes,  and  I confess  I 
am  sorry  that  she  should  see  you  in  such  a 
plight  as  you  seem  to  be  there.  But  you  have 
no  alternative  ; what  is  right  is  right ; and  your 
only  course  is  to  make  a quiet,  steady  effort, 
even  if  it  should  half  kill  you,  to  carry  out  your 
own  idea  of  your  duty,  and  be  your  old  self 
once  more.  I firmly  believe  you  can  do  it,  and, 


CUPID,  M,D. 


29 


as  I have  said,  I shall  come  and  look  you  up  in 
your  novel  surroundings  just  as  soon  as  I can. 

I have  had  a note  from  Lady  Gore,  who  is 
much  alarmed  about  you.  She  said  you  were 
so  imprudent,’’  and  that  she  had  written  to 
you  by  the  same  post.  Good-by  for  to-day. 

Ever  yours, 

Jack. 


30 


CUPID,  M.D. 


IX. 

Miss  Lily  Pattison  to  Miss  Caroline  Perkins. 

Fisher’s  Hotel,  Conduit  Street,  London, 
(Address  care  of  Brown,  Shipley  & Co.) 

February  7,  1878. 

My  Darling  Carrie : 

If  you  only  knew  how  I have  longed  for  you 
lately  ! Many  times  a day  I have  thought  of 
you  and  the  dear  ones  at  home.  There  is 
plenty  to  do,  and  much  to  see,  but,  with  my 
usual  good  fortune,  I have  stumbled  into  a 
scrape,  or  an  adventure — call  it  what  you  will — 
that  has  greatly  interfered  with  my  pleasure. 
Why  is  it  that  I have  so  much  trouble?  You 
know  what  a state  I got  into  before  we  sailed 
for  Europe,  and  will  you  believe  it,  dear,  we 
seem  to  have  jumped  from  the  frying-pan 
into  the  fire.  Now  it  will  comfort  me  to  tell 


CUPID  y M.D. 


31 


you  all  about  it,  for  I don’t  like  to  trouble 
mamma,  she  has  so  much  to  bear,  and  you 
know  what  papa  is  when  he  is  the  least  bit  ill. 
So  imagine  that  I am  sitting  in  your  own  dear 
little  room,  pouring  out  my  woes  into  your 
sympathetic  ear. 

We  have  had  a perfectly  lovely  time  until 
just  lately.  We  came  very  leisurely  from  Liv- 
erpool to  London — up  to  London  ” they  say 
here — and  then  papa  got  so  much  interested  in 
his  Social  Science  people  that  we  have  been 
here  nearly  two  months.  Well,  at  one  of  the 
meetings,  papa  fell  in  with  a very  nice  man, 
Sir  William  Gore,  who  came  and  lunched  with 
us  two  or  three  times.  I got  to  like  him  very 
much,  and  he  and  I struck  up  quite  a friend- 
ship. And  he  always  seemed  to  enjoy  himself 
pretty  well,  especially  when  talking  to  papa 
about  the  middle  classes,  and  all  that.  He  is 
about  forty-five,  but  his  wife,  Lady  Gore,  is 
much  younger,  and  very  sweet,  quite  unlike 


32 


CUPID,  M.D, 


any  of  the  English  women  I have  met.  She  is 
not  such  an  awful  dowdy.  You  would  simply 
expire  if  you  saw  the  way  they  dress  them- 
selves. She  called  on  us,  and  we  went  several 
times  to  her  house,  a very  pretty  little  house  in 
Curzon  Street.  There  we  met  the  author  of 
all  my  troubles,  her  brother,  Mr.  Blake.  I 
may  as  well  tell  you  first  as  last,  that  he  pro- 
posed to  me,  if  you  please,  after  about  three 
weeks’  acquaintance.  Fancy ! Of  course  I 
refused  him,  and  yet  I don’t  like  to  say  it  in 
that  cold-blooded  way,  exactly,  for  he  felt  very 
badly  about  it,  and  so,  to  tell  the  truth,  did  I. 
I don’t  yet  understand  it.  I can  scarcely  be- 
lieve he  is  in  earnest ; and  he  insists  upon  it 
that  I must  ‘‘  give  him  a chance,”  as  he  says, 
by  and  by.  It  struck  me  as  a crazy  thing  for 
a man  to  do.  Why,  he  scarcely  knew  me  at 
all,  and  yet  he  has  a way  of  talking  and  going 
on  as  if  he  had  known  me  for  years.  I wish 
you  could  see  him.  He  is  not  at  all  good- 


CUPID,  M.D. 


33 


looking,  rather  tall,  and  fair,  with  a Saxon 
type  of  face.  He  has  what  seems  to  my  Amer- 
ican ears  a very  affected  way  of  speaking,  but 
he  is  not  nearly  so  bad  in  this  respect  as  a Mr. 
Wykeham,  a friend  of  his.  There  is  some- 
thing very  strange  about  the  expression  of  Mr. 
Blake’s  face.  In  the  first  place,  he  is  one  of 
the  palest  men  I ever  saw  in  my  life,  and  his 
eyes  sometimes  have  a look  of  pain  and  rest- 
lessness, and  again  they  seem  glazed  and 
sleepy.  He  is  in  poor  health,  and  this  brings 
me  to  my  real  trouble.  He  is  now  staying  at 
the  very  place  where  papa  insists  upon  going. 
You  see,  mamma  never  said  anything  to  papa 
about  this  proposal,  not  that  she  ever  has 
secrets  from  him,  but  simply  because  he  would 
be  furious  if  he  knew,  especially  now  when  he 
is  unwell.  But  you  know  papa  always  feels 
obliged  to  adhere  strictly  to  any  plan  he 
makes ; our  journeyings,  hours,  trains,  and 

meals,  are  all  immutably  settled  long  before-^ 
3 


34 


CUPID,  M.D. 


hand,  and  are  like  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and 
Persians.  So  to  this  place,  Dudington,  we  go, 
and  our  rooms  are  engaged  at  the  institution 
there,  which  is  called  the  Hygienic  Hotel. 
Now,  dearest  Carrie,  think  what  a situation 
that  places  me  in  ! What  will  Lady  Gore 
think  of  it ! Oh,  dear ! I am  nearly  worried 
to  death  with  it  all.  Just  when  I was  longing 
so  to  go  on  to  Paris,  or  to  go  and  some 
Cathedral  towns,  to  be  shut  up  in  a ^ort  of 
superior  hospital ! And  with  a man  who  wants 
to  marry  me  ! 

Write  to  me,  darling,  and  cheer  me  up.  I 
feel  better  for  writing  just  this  little  scrap. 
And  do  tell  me  all  the  news.  Remember  me 
to  everybody.  Do  you  ever  see  Harry  W.  ? 
Good-by.  Lovingly,  Lilv^ 

P.S. — Mamma  sends  love.  Mind,  I don't 
like  Mr.  Blake,  so  don’t  get  that  impression^ 
But  he  is  undeniably  interesting.  L. 


CUPID,  M.D. 


35 


X. 

Eliot  Blake  to  John  Wykeham. 

February  8th. 

Dear  Jack : 

Your  letter  has  just  reached  me.  Why  in 
the  world  didn't  you  tell  me  that  they  were 
coming  here  ? Dr.  Rich  has  this  moment 
left  me.  I told  him,  at  first,  that  I could  not 
possibly  stay  here.  He  soon  got  at  the  true 
reason — at  least,  I told  him  that  some  of  my 
friends  were  coming  here,  and  that  I was  ex- 
tremely unwilling  for  them  to  see  me  in  such  a 
place,  or  in  such  a condition  as  I supposed  was 
in  store  for  me.  He  seemed  to  think  that  I 
ought  to  stay,  and  I have  had  a letter  from 
Gore,  who  also  urges  me  to  stay,  saying  that 
Clara  and  he  are  very  anxious  about  me,  and 


CUPID,  M,D. 


36 

that  they  think  such  a place  as  this  will  do  me 
good.  I hope  they  do  not  know  what  is  the 
matter  with  me.  Of  course  I lay  everything 
to  my  arm,  which  really  is  troubling  me  still, 
as  the  place  where  the  bone  splintered  is  still 
unhealed  ; and  they  tell  me  that  it  will  not  heal 
until  I abandon  the  morphia  entirely.  Think 
what  a condition  I am  in  ! 

Well,  I suppose  my  best  plan  is  to  remain 
here,  though  I declare  I am  making  up  my 
mind  as  I write  this,  and  fully  intended  to  pack 
my  portmanteau  an  hour  ago.  I am  very 
vacillating  nowadays,  and  more  restless  and 
uneasy  than  I can  describe  to  you.  My  daily 
dose  has  been  cut  down  a third  and  a fourth 
time,  and  I feel  it  perceptibly.  In  fact,  I am 
so  restless  that  I enjoy  my  constitutional  on 
the  verandah  much  more  than  at  first,  and  have 
made  one  or  two  acquaintances.  Mrs.  Poynter 
is  here — Mrs.  John  Poynter.  You  remember 
old  Poynter  at  Harrow,  don’t  you?  Well, 


CUPID,  M,D. 


37 


Mrs.  P.  has  already  claimed  acquaintance  with 
you,  so  I need  not  describe  her.  In  fact,  she  is 
rather  fond  of  talking  about  the  aristocracy  in 
general,  and  constantly  pumps  me  about  your 
mother.  My  chief  amusement  just  at  present 
is  to  baffle  her  curiosity.  I fancy  they  are 
hard  up.  Poynter  is  pale  and  thin  from  ill- 
health,  and  seems  to  have  something  on  his 
mind.  By  the  way,  old  man,  if  you  are  in 
trouble  for  money,  do  let  me  come  to  the  res- 
cue. I shall  not  be  put  off  this  time,  and  I 
should  feel  one  degree  less  degraded  if  I could 
be  of  use  to  any  one.  You  know  I have  still  a 
goodish  property,  and  these  little  financial 
crises  you  go  through  periodically  cannot  be 
agreeable.  Let  me  know  how  much  you  want. 

There  is  no  doubt  about  it,  I do  feel  this  re- 
duction of  my  dose.  I keep  thinking  of  it  all 
the  time.  There  is  a good  Broadwood  piano  in 
the  drawing-room,  and  I think  Til  try  that  for 
a bit,  if  there  isn’t  a gang  of  people  in  there. 


38 


CUPID,  AID. 


But  what  in  the  world  shall  I do  when  the 
Pattisons  come  ? Here  I have  actually  run 
away  from  the  girl  I love,  so  that  I may  make 
myself  fit  to  try  once  more  to  win  her,  and  at 
the  very  outset  of  my  effort  we  are  thrown 
together  ! In  spite  of  all  my  resolution  I long 
to  see  her,  but  what  will  come  of  it  all  ? 

Yours  always, 

Eliot. 


CUPID,  M.D, 


39 


XL 


Lily  Pattison  to  Caroline  Perkins. 


The  Hygienic  Hotel,  Dudington,  Middlesex, 

February  12,  1878. 

Dearest  Carrie : 

Your  sweet  letter  reached  me  just  as  we  were 
leaving  London  for  this  place  yesterday.  You 
see,  papa  has  packed  us  down  here,  as  I told 
you  in  my  last,  but  our  letters  have  crossed. 
By  the  way,  address  care  of  Brown,  Shipley  & 
Co.  when  you  write,  and  you  will  be  spared 
writing  the  formidable  title  of  this  curious  place. 
You  say  you  suppose  I am  now  in  Paris ; but 
there  is  no  such  good  luck  for  us.  I mustn't 
grumble,  though,  for  poor  papa  really  suffers 
from  his  sciatica,  and  he  is  convinced  that  he 
will  derive  great  benefit  from  a stay  here,  but 


40 


CUPID,  M.D, 


he  happens  to  be  in  a frightful  humor  to-day, 
because  Dr.  Martin  is  absent  at  his  other 
hotel  near  Cannes,  and  nobody  but  mamma 
can  go  near  him,  so  there  is  nothing  to  do  but 
accept  the  situation. 

And  what  a situation  it  is  ! When  I read  your 
accounts  of  the  Germans  and  the  Patriarchs, 
home  seems  almost  like  a dream.  You  can 
have  no  idea  of  the  strangeness  of  this  place. 
There  is  so  much  to  tell  you  that  I scarcely 
know  where  to  begin.  I have  seen  Mr.  Blake, 
and  that  part  of  it  is  over.  It  all  came  about 
very  naturally  ; he  was  playing  on  the  piano  in 
the  parlor  when  we  were  shown  in  there  (I 
didn’t  know  he  could  play),  and  we  met  as  if 
nothing  had  happened,  only  he  seemed  rather 
nervous.  I think  women  are  much  more  self- 
controlled  on  such  occasions  than  men.  He 
looks  very  ill,  and  complains  of  his  arm.  He 
broke  his  arm  out  hunting  over  a year  ago,  and 
it  has  never  got  well.  I feel  sorry  for  him. 


CUPID,  M.D. 


41 


There  is  a look  in  his  eyes  that  is  almost 
pathetic. 

This  morning  I have  not  seen  him,  but  have 
amused  myself  with  taking  a walk  and  watch- 
ing the  people.  These  English  women  are  so 
amusing  ! Last  evening  Dr.  Peck,  who  is 
attending  papa,  introduced  a Mrs.  Poynter  to 
mamma.  I am  enabled  to  spell  her  name  cor- 
rectly, as  she  herself  informed  me  that  there  is 
a great  distinction  to  be  drawn  between  the 
Surrey  Poynters,  who  spell  it  with  a y,'’ 
and  the  comparatively  plebeian  Somersetshire 
Pointers,  who  can  lay  no  claim  to  that  aristo- 
cratic vowel.  Mamma  says  she  has  rarely  met 
a more  prying  or  impertinent  person,  but  you 
know  mamma’s  quiet  little  way  of  snubbing 
siich  people.  Mrs.  Poynter  can  stand  a good 
deal  of  snubbing,  apparently.  As  soon  as  she 
discovered  that  we  knew  Mr.  Blake  she  was 
very  much  interested,  saying,  in  a very  sympa- 
thetic tone  of  voice,  Poor  fellow  ! I hear  he 


42 


CUPID.,  M,D, 


has  been  so  wild/^  I wish  you  could  see  her. 
She  came  and  talked  to  me  again  this  morning, 
and  I took  notes.  She  is  past  thirty,  though 
her  husband  seems  to  be  no  more  than  that 
himself ; her  eyes  are  a pale  green  gray,  her 
hair  red,  and  her  complexion  a washed-out, 
chalky,  buff  color  ; there  is  no  other  way  of 
expressing  it.  She  dresses  rather  pretentiously, 
yet  shabbily ; is  quite  small  and  thin,  with  a 
bad  figure,  and  I am  sure  she  is  a horrid 
woman.  Yet  she  has  plenty  of  assurance,  and 
last  evening  Mr.  Blake  and  one  or  two  others 
whose  names  I don’t  know  were  ordered  about 
at  a great  rate.  It  was,  ‘‘  Mr.  Blake,  hand  me 
my  shawl.”  Mr.  Blake,  do  play  us  some- 
thing.” I was  so  glad  that  Mr.  Blake  treated 
me  as  a mere  acquaintance  last  night. 

All  this  cannot  be  very  interesting  to  you, 
dear,  but  I rather  enjoy  writing  down  such 
trifles.  I am  sure  the  people  here  gossip  about 
one  another  all  the  time.  Mrs.  Poynter  wasn’t 


CUPID,  M,D, 


43 


happy  until  she  had  found  out  exactly  what  was 
the  matter  with  papa,  and  prescribed  several 
remedies.  At  any  rate,  all  this  will  be  a novel 
experience  for  me,  and  as  I have  more  time 
than  I know  what  to  do  with,  you  may  expect 
to  hear  from  me  frequently.  The  country  is 
very  English,  and  unlike  anything  at  home,  but 
1 will  spare  you  a description  of  it  until  I know 
it  better.  And  this  letter  is  now  so  long  that  I 
will  not  answer  to-day  all  you  say  about  Harry 
and  others.  I sent  the  waterproof  from  Scott 
Adie’s,  but  the  other  things  must  wait  till  we 
get  to  Paris,  if  we  ever  do. 

Do  write  often.  All  the  home  news  is  so 
sweet  when  one  is  away  from  it.  I shall  look 
eagerly  for  your  letters.  Give  my  love  to  all 
the  girls,  and  a kiss  to  Sophy. 

Ever  your  loving 


Lily. 


44 


CUPID,  M.D. 


XII. 

Eliot  Blake  to  John  Wykeham. 

Dudington,  February  14th. 

Dear  Jack : 

She  is  lovelier  than  ever ! She  has  been 
here  three  days,  and  I can  scarcely  restrain 
myself  when  I see  her.  I long  to  take  her  in 
my  arms  and  make  her  love  me.  Did  you  ever 
notice  her  mouth  ? I never  saw  such  a beauti- 
ful mouth,  nor  such  exquisite  little  teeth.  And 
how  dainty  she  is  ! Her  dress  is  so  neat,  and 
she  is  so  slender  and  graceful — every  move- 
ment a study  for  an  artist.  I saw  her  hair  in 
the  sun  yesterday.  It  is  a warmer  color  in  the 
light.  I wish  I could  make  out  what  color  her 
eyes  are.  I think  it  is  a sort  of  deep  slate- 
color.  What  is  your  recollection  of  them  ? 


CUPID,  M,D, 


45 


But,  lovely  as  she  is  to  look  at,  it  is  ‘‘  the 
sense  of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused  ” 
that  fascinates  me  to  such  a degree.  She  must 
be  such  a good  girl.  She  is  so  kind  to  her 
father,  even  when  the  old  gentleman  is  slightly 
savage,  which  is  not  uncommon.  Her  mother 
idolizes  her.  Do  you  know  I am  getting  rather 
to  like  her  American  accent.  It  is  very  far  re^ 
moved  from  that  desperate  twang  they  have 
sometimes.  But  who  am  I,  that  I should  criti- 
cise her?  My  very  commendation  is  a piece 
of  presumption.  I am  unworthy  of  the  love  of 
a fresh,  pure  girl  like  that. 

And  can  I make  myself  worthy  of  her  ? 
Jack,  shall  I ever  conquer  this  drug  ? To-day 
I despair  of  it.  I am  in  the  depths.  I fancied 
that  she  looked  very  coldly  at  me  to-day,  and  I 
had  gone  an  hour  beyond  my  time  for  my  dose, 
and  every  way  my  thoughts  turned  it  was  all 
misery,  and — I drowned  it  in  opium.  I took 
a double  dose — nearly  three  grains  of  morphia 


46 


CUPID',  M.D, 


in  my  leg  (there  is  no  place  left  on  my  arms) — 
and  soon  I was  in  the  seventh  heaven.  The 
reaction  has  come  now ; I am  penitent  again, 
and  have  told  Dr.  Rich,  who  looked  very 
grave.  It  is  strange  that  I never  hate  it  when 
the  delirious  bliss  of  it  is  upon  me.  If  I did 
not  dread  the  stuff  so,  I should  almost  urge 
you  to  take  a safe  dose,  for  the  sensation.  No 
words  can  describe  the  effect.  I think  there  is 
a passage  somewhere  in  Monte  Cristo  ’’  where 
Dumas  depicts  the  effect  of  hashish  ; but,  if  my 
memory  serves  me,  neither  that  description,  nor 
any  other  that  I have  ever  met  with,  conveys 
any  idea  of  the  truth.  When  you  are  deprived 
of  it,  you  not  only  suffer  acute  pain,  but  horri- 
ble flashes  and  waves  of  heat  pass  over  you  ; 
you  shiver  and  totter — you  are  unmanned.  At 
such  a time,  if  you  could  not  get  it  any  other 
way,  you  would  steal  it.  Once,  at  a chemist’s 
in  Brighton,  when  I knew  I could  not  buy  any 
without  a prescription,  I actually  wrote  out  the 


CUPID^  M,D. 


47 


formula  of  Magendie’s  solution  in  the  orthodox 
fashion;  and,  such  is  the  devilish  shrewdness 
with  which  the  drug  inspires  you,  I even  signed 
some  such  name  as  Edward  Brown,  fearing 
they  might  see  the  E.  B.  on  my  linen.  Oh, 
Jack,  what  a wretch  I have  been  ! 

I wrote  some  verses  this  afternoon — opium 
verses.  I think  this  miserable  habit  takes  that 
form  with  me.  When  the  sublime  exaltation 
steals  over  me,  and  my  forehead  moistens,  all 
my  faculties  grow  abnormally  alert,  and  I seem 
to  myself  to  be  gifted  with  any  amount  of  ge- 
nius. I suspect,  nay,  I am  certain,  that  I must 
be  in  a curious  state  of  mind  ; but  I am  not  yet 
fool  enough  to  imagine,  opium  or  no  opium, 
that  I am  a poet.  What  is  to  become  of  me  ? 
Is  there  any  hope  for  me  ? There  ! I can  see 
her  now,  walking  across  the  road  ! There  she 
is,  in  all  her  loveliness  and  innocence,  and  I — I 
am  striding  down  into  hell ! Oh,  wretched 
man  that  I am,  who  shall  deliver  me  from  the 


48 


CUPID,  M,D, 


body  of  this  death  ? Better  to  die  at  once, 
while  I have  some  show  of  reason  left.  I could 
manage  it  so  that  no  one  w^ould  suspect.  If 
there  is  a life  hereafter,  how  shall  I ever  face 
that  mother  who  was  the  gracious  dream  of  my 
childhood,  and  my  dear  and  honored  father  ? 
Never  was  there  a stain  on  his  name  ; and  now, 
unless  these  doctors  can  save  me,  I shall  drag 
it  in  the  dust.  God  help  me  ! I would  pray, 
if  I could,  but  I cannot — I cannot. 


E.  B. 


CUPID,  M,D, 


49 


XIII. 

John  Wykeham  to  Eliot  Blake. 

St.  James’s  Club,  February  8th. 

My  poor,  dear  old  fellow,  your  letter  of  the 

14th  only  reached  me  to-day,  as  I have  been  at 

Aylesford.  I am  terribly  cut  up  about  you, 

and  shall  run  down  to-morrow  on  the  five 

o’clock  train  and  spend  a day  or  two  with  you, 

so  get  me  a room  somewhere.  I have  no  time 

to-day  for  more  than  this  line,  but  for  Heaven’s 

sake,  Eliot,  don’t  give  way  any  more  than  you 

can  help.  I think  you  have  great  reason  to 

feel  encouraged  rather  than  depressed.  As  I 

understand  it,  you  have  considerably  reduced 

your  daily  dose,  and,  of  course,  you  cannot  do 

that  without  feeling  it.  Keep  up  a good  brave 
4 


so 


CUPID,  M.D. 


heart,  and  do  your  best.  I am  looking  forward 
to  to-morrow  evening. 

Ever  yours, 

J.  W. 

P.  S. — I forgot  to  thank  you  for  your  offer 
about  money  in  one  of  your  recent  letters.  It 
was  just  like  you  to  think  of  it,  but  luckily  I am 
beginning  to  earn  a little,  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life.  All  my  relatives  are  rubbing  their 
eyes.  By  the  way,  do  keep  me  clear  of  that 
Poynter  woman,  if  possible. 


CUPID,  M,D. 


51 


XIV. 

Lily  Pattison  to  Caroline  Perkins. 

DudIngton,  February  19th. 

Dearest  Carrie : 

I have  not  heard  from  you  since  I wrote  the 
other  day,  but  I remember  that  I didn’t  half 
answer  your  letter.  I have  been  meaning  to 
write  almost  every  day,  but  I am  quite  sur- 
prised to  find  that  the  days  are  beginning  to 
pass  very  pleasantly  here.  The  people  are 
amusing.  They  seem  to  know  very  little  about 
America,  and  are  much  entertained  by  the  way 
I pronounce  certain  words,  and  with  some  little 
phrases  which  they  call  Americanisms.  I stand 
to  my  guns  very  stubbornly,  but  somehow, 
whenever  I criticise  their  ways  of  speech  and 
thinking,  they  are  quite  satisfied  that  I am  en- 
tirely in  the  wrong.  But  they  are  very  kind 


52 


CUPID,  M.D. 


on  the  whole,  and  that  Mrs.  Poynter  I wrote  of 
seems  to  have  taken  quite  a fancy  to  me.  I 
don’t  like  her,  but  of  course  I have  to  be  civil. 
I soon  discovered  that  in  a place  of  this  kind, 
full  of  a lot  of  invalidish  people  who  have  noth- 
ing else  to  do  but  gossip  and  take  medicine  and 
bathe,  one  cannot  be  too  careful.  And  yet  we 
are  all  thrown  so  much  together  at  certain  times 
in  the  day  that  it  is  easy  to  grow  well  ac- 
quainted with  one  another.  I really  almost 
love  a dear  old  Scotch  lady,  a Mrs.  Mackenzie. 
Her  son  is  a cripple,  I believe,  according  to 
Sarah  (of  course  we  could  not  get  along  with- 
out old  Sarah),  and  it  is  touching  to  see  his 
mother  carrying  up  his  meals  with  her  own 
hands.  It  is  not  unlike  the  steamer  in  some 
ways  : I remember  one  old  gentleman  on  the 
Bothnia  who  called  me  my  dear  ” the  third 
day  out,  and  afterward  grew  so  confidential 
that  he  treated  me  to  a careful  comparison  of 
the  charms  of  his  first  and  second  wives. 


CUPID,  M.D, 


53 


There  is  very  little  for  me  to  do,  except  to 
read,  write,  and  walk.  I have  walked  miles 
and  miles  lately,  exploring.  We  are  not  more 
than  a dozen  miles  from  London,  from 
Hyde  Park,  and  within  a short  distance  of  us 
streets  are  built  up.  The  Great  Western  Rail- 
way runs  through  the  place,  and  also  a fine 
turnpike  road,  which  runs  on  to  Windsor,  I be- 
lieve. There  is  a great  deal  of  lively  traffic  on 
this  road,  and  I have  learned  more  about  the 
middle  classes'’  in  my  walks  during  the  past 
week  than  I should  have  in  months  under  ordi- 
nary circumstances.  Gay  green  and  gold  om- 
nibuses pass  along  at  intervals,  and  there  are 
two  or  three  stations  of  the  Underground  Rail- 
way. Many  of  the  houses  are  built  of  yellow 
brick,  and  few  are  more  than  two  stories  high. 
There  is  a little  canal  leading  somewhere,  and 
a tiny  stream,  the  Brent  by  name,  that  empties 
into  the  Thames  at  Brentford.  They  tell  me 
that  the  Thames  is  lovely  near  here,  and  I am 


54 


CUPID,  M.D. 


going  to  make  lots  of  excursions.  I have  only 
seen  a little  of  it,  near  Richmond,  when  we 
went  there  to  dine  once  with  the  Gores  at  the 
Star  and  Garter.  That  was  the  time  I first  met 
Mr.  Blake.  He  had  dined,  and  was  sitting  out- 
side in  a gray  suit,  reading  a newspaper.  Mrs. 
Poynter  tells  me  that  there  are  some  *‘show 
places  near  here,  and  I hope  we  shall  see 
some  of  them. 

The  grass  is  far  more  beautiful  than  ours.  It 
is  green  even  at  this  season  of  the  year.  Dr. 
Martin  (who  has  returned,  much  to  papa's 
delight)  is  very  proud  of  his  lawn,  and  goes 
about  sometimes  with  an  old  knife  spudding,” 
as  he  calls  it.  'Dr.  .M.  is  a delightful  old 
man.  His  hair  is  nearly  white,  and  he  has 
such  a benevolent  expression — all  the  sick  peo- 
ple here  seem  to  take  such  comfort  in  him. 
Papa  says  he  is  rich,  and  need  not  keep  up 
these  Sanitariums  unless  he  wished  to. 

I am  sure  you  have  not  forgotten,  dear,  that 


CUPID,  M,D, 


55 


to-day  is  my  birthday.  Twenty-two  ! I used  \ 
to  look  upon  that  as  very  venerable.  I feel  like  f 
a perfect  old  maid  to-day.  And  that  reminds 
me,  I have  never  answered  what  you  said  about  1 
Harry.  I was  so  sorry  to  hear  that  remark  you  i 
quoted,  about  his  willingness  to  marry  some  \ 
rich  girl  if  she  would  have  him.  I think  it  is  [ 
the  only  unworthy  speech  of  his  I ever  heard.  / 
And  I really  do  not  see  why  you  too  should  ^ 
join  in  persecuting  me  because  I did  not  marry 
him.  Is  it  possible  that  you,  my  dearest  of  all 
friends,  do  not  understand  the  motives  that  have 
actuated  me  these  past  years  ? I look  upon  love  ^ 
very  much  as  I think  men  ought  to  look  upon  a 
call  to  the  ministry,  as  •something  that  should|' 
be  heaven-sent  if  it  is  to  be  worth  anything. 

I have  an  ideal  of  love,  but  it  has  never  come| 
to  me.  That’s  why  I never  hesitated  about ' 
Mr.  White,  or  Schuyler  Hall,  or  any  of  the 
others  who  have  been  attentive  to  me.  You 
must  admit  that  I am  honest  in  my  convictions, 


CUPID,  M.D. 


56 

and  that  so  far  I have  lived  up  to  them.  Don’t 
you  suppose  that  you  or  I could  name  plenty 
of  girls  who  would  give  their  eyes  to  marry 
Schuyler  Hall  ? It  was  precisely  that  dread  of 
yielding  to  what  I was  sure  would  not  bring  me 
happiness  that  made  me  put  my  foot  down 
about  Harry.  I believe  I suffered  myself  al- 
j most  as  much  as  Harry.  I know  people  say  I 
encouraged  him,  but  I didn’t.  I never  accepted 
him,  and  he  knows  it ; nor  did  I ever  lead  him 
to  think  it  possible  for  me  to  do  so.  But  with 
papa  and  mamma  and  all  of  you  favoring  him 
as  you  did,  I was  afraid  I should  give  in.  I am 
so  sorry  about  it  all  ! I have  known  him  ever 
since  we  were  little.  I should  certainly  have 
known  it  if  I had  really  loved  him.  But  I 
think  that  one’s  husband  should  be  so  dear  to 
a woman  ! That’s  why  this  Mrs.  Poynter 
makes  me  so  furious.  She  has  a good  hus- 
band, and  apparently  prefers  any  other  man’s 
society.  If  I ever  loved  a man,  I should  love 


CUPID,  M.D. 


57 


him  with  all  my  heart,  and  soul,  and  strength  : 
every  hair  of  his  head  should  be  precious  to  me. 
He  should  be  my  king  and  my  master.  I should 
be  content  to  live  with  him  on  a prairie.  But 
this  will  never  come  to  me.  I think  I should 
make  a good  wife  to  the  right  man,  but  I have 
little  expectation  of  the  right  man  making  his 
appearance,  and  I don’t  mind  being  an  old 
maid  one  bit. 

I fear  you  will  think  this  all  great  rubbish, 
dear,  so  I will  spare  you  any  further  heart- 
searchings.  My  letters  are  all  about  myself! 
You  must  remember,  however,  that  you  are 
one  of  the  two  or  three  to  whom  I can  speak 
freely,  and  it  is  such  a comfort  sometimes. 
With  all  my  love, 

Lily. 

P.S. — On  a closer  acquaintance  I think  Mr. 
Blake  is  much  better  looking  than  I did  at  first. 
He  reads  aloud  extremely  well.  We  see  him 
every  day.  L. 


CUPID,  M.D. 


S8 


XV. 

John  Wykeham  to  Lady  Gore. 

The  Hygienic  Hotel,  Dudington, 
February  21,  1878. 

My  Dear  Lady  Gore : 

I know  how  anxious  you  are  about  Eliot,  and 
as  I have  run  down  here  to  spend  a day  or  two 
with  him,  I can  tell  you  just  how  he  is. 

You  asked  me  whether  I thought  Sir  William 
or  you  could  do  anything  for  him.  Pray  ex- 
cuse me  if  I say  at  once  that  Eliot  does  not 
wish  at  present  to  see  any  one — or  rather,  that 
any  one  should  see  him.  Of  course  I don’t 
count.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  is  a little  ashamed 
to  see  any  one  whose  good  opinion  he  values  so 
highly  as  yours.  I fear  you  will  become  un- 
necessarily alarmed,  and  think  me  very  mys- 


CUPID,  M.D, 


59 


terious,  unless  I tell  you  all  I know  about  his 
condition  ; and  this  I must  do  without  his  per- 
mission. The  gravity  of  the  case,  however, 
justifies  me.  The  fact  is,  he  has  got  into  the 
way  of  taking  opium.  He  feels  terribly  about 
it,  and  is  now  here  for  the  purpose  of  making  a 
resolute  effort  to  overcome  the  habit.  It  is 
scarcely  his  own  fault,  for  you  will  remember 
what  suffering  he  endured  at  the  time  when 
his  arm  was  so  badly  broken.  He  drifted  into 
the  habit,  and  it  grew  to  be  his  master.  Indeed, 
not  long  since  he  informed  me  that  he  was 
taking  about  sixty  grains  of  morphia  a day,  or 
something  equivalent.  This  would  soon  lead  to 
insanity  or  death,  and  I need  not  say,  my  dear 
Lady  Gore,  how  earnestly  I have  endeavored 
to  sustain  him  in  his  attempt  to  overcome  the 
habit.  I have  had  long  conversations  with  Dr. 
Martin,  the  head  of  this  establishment,  and 
Dr.  Rich,  who  has  the  special  care  of  Eliot. 
They  both  seemed  to  think  that  he  had  done 


6o 


CUPID,  M.D, 


remarkably  well  during  the  five  weeks  he  has 
been  here,  and  Dr.  Rich,  who  is  quite  a 
young  man,  is  confident  that  he  will  pull 
through.  It  is  terrible  to  think  what  is  still  in 
store  for  him.  Early  next  month  they  are 
going  to  discontinue  the  hypodermic  syringe 
which  he  now  uses,  and  administer  larger  quan- 
tities by  the  mouth.  Dr.  Rich  has  a high 
opinion  of  Eliot’s  powers  of  will,  and  is  san- 
guine about  the  result.  He  says,  however,  that 
he  must  have  absolute  control  of  his  patient  for 
some  months  to  come.  I told  him,  as  I could 
with  perfect  truth,  of  Eliot’s  self-control  and 
resolution  in  everything  except  this  opium 
habit. 

But  there  is  something  else.  Eliot’s  mind  is 
evidently  in  a somewhat  unnatural  condition, 
but,  after  making  due  allowance  for  this,  the 
fact  remains  that  he  is  in  love  with  Miss  Patti- 
son.  For  a long  time  I doubted  it,  or  attrib- 
uted it  to  his  state  of  health,  but  now  I am 


CUPID,  M.D, 


6i 


sure  of  it.  Of  course  you  know  that  she  re- 
fused him,  and  I presume  you  are  also  aware 
that  she  is  now  here  with  her  father  and 
mother.  She  took  pains  to  assure  me  last 
evening  that  she  came  here  very  unwillingly,  as 
she  evidently  guesses  that  Eliot  has  confided  in 
me.  Now  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  Eliot’s 
passion  for  her  may  prove  to  be  his  salvation — 
at  least,  that  it  may  become  the  most  powerful 
motive  for  his  persevering  in  his  present  course 
of  treatment.  Miss  Pattison,  he  tells  me,  has 
never  shown  him  any  encouragement,  but 
there  is  just  this  about  it,  that  they  are  thrown 
together  here  daily,  and  it  is  possible  that 
when  she  discovers  what  a good  fellow  he  is 
she  might  grow  to  like  him.  As  for  the  young 
lady  herself,  I have  heard  you  speak  very 
highly  of  her,  and  I know  you  want  to  see 
Eliot  settled.  I consider  her  quite  the  most 
charming  girl  I ever  saw.  If  I were  not  a 
detrimental  of  the  first  water,  I should  be 


62 


CUPID,  M.D. 


strongly  tempted  to  offer  her  to  share  hashed 
mutton  and  lodgings  in  Camberwell.  Eliot 
now  feels  very  down  in  the  mouth,  and  I don’t 
think  he  will  attempt  any  love-making,  but  I 
feel  certain  that  he  would  ask  her  again  if  he 
should  recover. 

You  will  probably  say  that  I have  usurped 
the  feminine  prerogative  of  match-making,  es- 
pecially when  I tell  you  that  I have  invited 
Miss  Pattison  and  Eliot  to  drive  over  to  Wick- 
field  to-morrow.  I asked  Mrs.  Pattison  also, 
but  she  cannot  leave  her  suffering  spouse,  so  a 
Mrs.  Poynter  is  going  to  play  Mrs.  Grundy. 
Miss  Pattison  is  anxious  to  see  one  of  our 
country  houses.  None  of  the  family  are  there, 
so  for  the  first  time  I have  availed  myself  of 
my  uncle’s  repeated  invitations  to  make  my- 
self at  home,  and  have  written  to  old  Parker 
(the  present  housekeeper,  who  was  once  my 
mother’s  maid)  to  get  us  some  lunch  in  the 
orangery.  If  I can  manage  it,  I will  get  them 


CUPID,  M.D, 


63 

*to  set  the  big  fountain  going.  So,  you  see,  we 
are  all  in  for  a lark. 

If  I can  serve  you  here,  I hope  you  will  let 
me  know.  Pray  give  my  regards  to  Sir  Wil- 
liam, and  permit  me  to  remain. 

Yours  very  faithfully, 

J.  Wykeham. 


64 


CUPID,  M.D. 


XVL 

Lily’s  Diary. 

Dudington,  Washington’s  Birthday, 
February  22d. 

This  has  been  a day  of  mingled  pleasure  and 
pain.  Not  exactly  pain,  though,  and  a great 
deal  of  pleasure.  I must  write  it  all  down. 
Some  things  to-day  I want  to  remember. 

In  the  first  place,  Mr.  Wykeham  is  delight- 
ful. Nothing  could  have  been  kinder  than  his 
plan  for  our  pleasure  to-day.  I had  no  idea  he 
was  a grandee,  or  rather,  almost  a grandee. 
It  appears  he  was  born  at  this. great  place <we 
have  seen  to-day,  and  he  is  so  pleasant  and 
frank  that  I have  learned  a good  deal  of  his 
history.  He  calls  himself  a detrimental.”  I 
learned  these  facts : 


CUPID,  M.D. 


65 


His  grandfather  was  Duke  of  Middlesex,  t.e,, 
his  grandfather  on  his  mother’s  side. 

His  mother,  Lady  Mary  Something,  married 
Colonel  Wykeham. 

/ Colonel  Wykeham  is  poor.  Lady  Mary  is 
also  poor,  for  her  rank,”  and  was  one  of  six 
/children. 

The  present  Duke  has  four  sons,  one  of 
whom  is  married.  He  is  also  very  rich,  as  he 

made  a rich  match,”  marrying  some  heiress 
or  other. 

There  is  a very  old  Duchess  alive.  Lady 
Mary’s  mother,  who,  as  Mr.  Wykeham  says, 
‘‘ought  to  leave  us  pots  of  money,  dear 
soul.” 

I am  beginning  to  feel  quite  learned  about 

the  British  aristocracy.  Mr.  Wykeham  told 

me  all  this,  and  much  more,  when  we  W’ere 

rambling  about  the  place.  First  we  drove  into 

the  park,  through  some  magnificent  bronze 

gates,  with  a lodge  by  them  much  finer  than 
5 


66 


CUPID,  M,D. 


our  own  house  at  home.  Then  there  was  a 
lovely  drive  of  about  a mile,  and  we  came  to  a 
great  terrace  with  more  gates,  then  a succession 
of  flower  gardens,  and  at  last  the  house  itself. 
It  is  enormous,  as  big  as  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel,  and  fifty  times  as  handsome,  with  a 
great  portico,  and  wings  and  colonnades  on 
each  side.  The  lawns  and  the  trees,  and  the 
walks,  are  all  beautiful.  I never  saw  anything 
to  compare  with  the  splendor  of  the  whole 
thing. 

There,”  said  Mr.  Wykeham,  as  we  ap- 
proached the  house,  ‘‘  there  is  Wickfield.” 

Mrs.  Poynter  said,  ‘‘  How  perfectly  the  Duke 
keeps  it  up  ! Such  a contrast  to  some  of  our 
great  places  ! ” 

Yes,”  said  Mr.  Wykeham,  my  uncle  is 
proud  of  the  place,  and  he  is  a good  fellow  into 
the  bargain.” 

Does  Lady  Mary  spend  much  time  here  ? ” 

Not  much,”  he  replied  ; ‘‘  the  Duke  cannot 


CUPID,  M.D. 


67 

afford  to  live  here  himself  more  than  a couple 
of  months  in  the  year.  He  seems  to  prefer  his 
smaller  places/’ 

I don’t  think  Mr.  Wykeham  likes  Mrs.  Poyn- 
ter  very  well.  Nor  does  Mr.  Blake. 

Then  we  rambled  over  the  whole  place, 
through  state  rooms,  picture  galleries — every- 
thing. It  is  a perfect  dream  of  luxury  and 
beauty.  In  one  conservatory  I found  myself 
alone  with  Mr.  Wykeham,  and  he  told  me 
more  ; this  time  about  Mr.  Blake  also. 

They  were  at  school  together  at  Harrow,  and 
were  close  friends  at  an  early  age.  Then  they 
were  at  Oxford.  Then  Mr.  Wykeham  studied 
law,  and  is  just  beginning,  he  told  me,  to  earn 
his  living.  Mr.  Blake,  though  not  an  aristocrat, 
is  ‘^a  man  of  very  good  family’'  (they  do  seem 
to  think  so  much  of  family  over  here),  and  does 
nothing  but  hunt  and  shoot.  But,  according 
to  Mr.  Wykeham,  he  could  do  anything,  and 
is  the  most  gifted  and  delightful  of  men.  I 


68 


CUPID,  M,D. 


can’t  begin  to  tell  you,  Miss  Pattison,  what  a 
perfect  old  trump  he  is  ! He’s  so  generous, 
and  so  clever.  He  has  a small  place  in  Wales, 
with  a coal-mine  on  it,  and  he  has  built  his 
colliers  new  cottages,  and  stayed  down  there 
once  when  they  had  a fever,  and  they  almost 
worship  him.”  Further  facts  : 

Mr.  Blake’s  father  was  a successful  architect. 

He  has  no  near  relations  except  Lady  Gore. 

He  is  altogether,  according  to  Mr.  Wyke- 
ham,  the  most  perfect  of  his  sex,  only  he  has 
been  rather  extravagant,  and  has  had  a slight 
tendency  to  make  up  to  pretty  women,  and  is 
somehow  very  unfortunate  in  being  out  of 
health  just  now. 

We  had  a fairy-like  lunch  in  a great  octago- 
nal conservatory,  with  a palm-tree,  forty  feet 
high,  in  the  very  centre,  and  orange-trees  and 
tropical  plants  in  great  profusion.  Very  gor- 
geous footmen  waited  on  us,  and  I never  saw 
such  china  and  glass  in  my  life.  We  all  got 


CUPID,  M,D. 


69 


/very  friendly,  and  Mrs.  Poynter  drank  two 
glasses  of  champagne. 

After  lunch  came  the  only  part  of  the  day 
that  I did  not  enjoy.  Mr.  Blake  took  me  to 
see  the  deer,  and  we  had  a very  singular  con- 
versation, which  I must  record.  I hope  I have 
acted  rightly.  I tried  not  to  be  harsh  with 
him.  I am  sure  I do  not  care  for  him.  And 
yet  no  man  has  ever  spoken  to  me  as  he  did 
||to-day.  He  has  no  right  to  make  love  to  me, 
fand  mamma  was  right  in  saying  I ought  not  to 
j ; go  on  this  picnic.  But  he  is  so  impetuous,  and 
insists  on  my  listening  to  him,  and  he  does 
seem  to  love  me  ! 

We  were  somewhere  in  the  park.  (I  never 
I saw  the  deer  after  all,  and  Mr.  Blake  told  an 
> awful  fib  about  our  losing  our  way.)  All  of  a 
sudden,  in  the  midst  of  rather  an  interesting 
discussion  about  primogeniture  and  family  es- 
tates, Mr.  Blake  stopped  and  looked  at  me  till 
I felt  myself  blushing  with  vexation. 


70 


CUPID,  M.D. 


‘‘How  can  I be  silent?”  he  said  at  last. 
“Do  listen  to  me  one  moment!  I know  I 
ought  not  to,  but  I can’t  help  it.  My  darling, 
my  darling,  I love  you  better  than  my  life  ! ” 

I tried  to  be  as  dignified  as  I could,  and  I 
was  really  very  much  provoked.  I said  all 
manner  of  things,  but  somehow  I couldn’t  stop 
him.  As  nearly  as  I can  remember,  he  went  on 
to  say : “ What  in  the  world  can  I do  or  say  to 
make  you  feel  as  I do  ? I tell  you  it  is  love 
that  has  come  to  me — love  ! I am  twenty- 
eight  years  old,  and  like  all  men  I have  fancied 
myself  in  love,  but  this  is  so  different  1 Think  1 
I have  scarcely  ever  touched  your  hand  1 And 
I would  kiss  the  hem  of  your  gown  if  you 
would  let  me  ! ” 

“Mr.  Blake,”  I said,  “this  is  not  right.  If 
I listened  to  you  any  longer  you  might  have 
reason  to  blame  me.  You  must  take  me  back 
to  the  others.” 

“ Only  listen  tome  one  moment!  Just  one 


CUPID,  M,D. 


71 


moment,  Miss  Pattison,  and  I promise  you  any- 
thing ! I will  not  trouble  you  when  we  get 
back  to  the  hotel.  Not  a word  of  love  shall 
pass  my  lips  if  you  will  only  listen  to  me  this 
once.’’  (His  voice  was  very  husky  and  tremu- 
lous.) I just  want  to  tell  you  one  thing,  that 
a woman  is  rarely  loved  as  I love  you.  How 
do  you  know  that  you  are  not  throwing  away 
your  own  chance  of  love?  You  don’t  know 
the  strength  of  my  nature — I scarcely  knew  it 
myself  till  I saw  you  ; but  I do  know  that  I am 
capable  of  a great,  unselfish,  overmastering 
love,  and  I am  equally  certain  that  you  are 
capable  of  it  also.  And  what’s  more,  I don’t 
believe  your  heart  has  yet  been  touched.  You 
may  think  that  I don’t  know  you,  nor  do  I 
know  you  in  the  common  sense,  but  I know 
that  you  are  lovely,  and  good,  and  I could 
make  you  so  happy  if  you  would  let  me  ! ” 

Oh,  Mr.  Blake,  I don’t  think  so  ! ” 

‘‘Yes,  I could,”  he  replied;  “I  am  not 


72 


CUPID,  M,D, 


good-looking,  and  all  that,  but  there  is  more  in 
me  than  you  know  of.  Just  now  I happen  to 
be  ill ; but  I shall  get  well,  and  then  you  will 
not  see  me  at  my  worst,  as  now.  I am  having 
a hard  time  of  it  now,  but  if  I could  only  have 
one  word  from  you,  it  would  help  me  so  much. 
If  you  could  only  say  you  wanted  me  to  get 
well ! 

Of  course  I want  you  to  get  well,  Mr. 
Blake.  I am  very  sorry  you  are  so  ill.  You 
have  been  very  kind  to  me,  and  you  pay  me  a 
great  honor,  but  what  you  propose  is  so  very 
serious.  A girl’s  love  is  all  she  has  to  give.” 

I felt  powerless  to  escape  now,  so  we  talked 
on. 

And  it  is  all  a man  has  to  give  ! ” said  he. 

I have  never  used  common  arguments  with 
you  ; and,  in  fact,  if  your  love  won’t  come  to 
me  without  arguments,  I don’t  want  it.  I have 
never  told  you  anything  about  my  means,  for 
instance,  nor  do  I know  or  care  anything  about 


CUPID,  M.D. 


73 


yours.  Nor  does  our  being  of  different  nation- 
alities weigh  with  me  a particle.  How  can  I 
convey  to  you  what  I mean  ? My  love  is  so 
great  that  I should  think  you  would  love  me 
for  that  alone,  unworthy  of  you  though  I am. 
No  one  else  loves  you  as  I love  you.  I am 
convinced  of  that.  And  I suppose  you  have 
had  other  lovers.’’ 

‘‘Yes,  I have  had  other  lovers.  I don’t 
know  why  it  is  you  compel  me  to  discuss  it 
with  you.  You  certainly  cannot  think  I am 
encouraging  you.  I have  had  others  who — 
admired  me,  and  one ” 

“ Not  one  whom  you  love  ? ” he  asked. 

“ I almost  loved  him,”  I replied,  weakly. 

“ Almost ! Then  you  never  loved  him.  You 
would  never  hesitate  if  you  loved.  Oh,  I feel 
sure  you  will  love  me  yet ! You  will  love  me 
yet ! ” he  exclaimed,  with  a sort  of  fierce  enthu- 
siasm. 

A curious  feeling  came  over  me ; I must 


74 


CUPID,  M.D. 


have  been  influenced  by  his  pertinacity  and 
earnestness.  I could  not  help  saying  to  myself, 
Is  he  right  ? Is  he  right  ? Is  this  man  to  be 
my  fate?  Is  it  true  that  I may  be  losing  7ny 
cha7ice  of  love?  ''  But  this  was  only  for  an  in- 
stant. 

I resolved  that  we  must  not  talk  any  longer, 
and  turned  decidedly  to  go. 

‘‘One  moment  more,’'  he  said,  “I  must  tell 

you  one  other  thing.  I '' 

“ Mr.  Blake,"  I said,  “ I cannot  stay  another 
minute.  We  must  go  and  join  the  others." 

But  this  is  something  you  ought  to  know 
about  me.  You  cannot  know  unless  I tell  you. 
It  is  something  very  much  to  my  discredit.  I 

hope  you  will  not  blame  me,  but " 

I cannot  listen  to  anything  more,"  I said. 
Really  I cannot.  Let  us  talk  about  some- 
thing else."  And  I walked  off  very  fast. 

He  acquiesced,  and  we  went  back.  I fan- 
cied that  Mrs.  Poynter  eyed  us  rather  susph 


CUPID,  M,D. 


75 


ciously,  and  on  the  drive  home  (she  and  Mr. 
Wykeham  were  on  the  front  seat)  she  looked 
back  at  me  all  the  time.  To-morrow,  I shall 
tell  mamma  all  about  everything.  I don’t 
know  what  to  make  of  it  all.  I wonder  what 
the  other  thing  was  Mr.  Blake  was  going  to  tell 


me  ? 


76 


CUPID,  M.D. 


XVII. 

Eliot  Blake  to  Lily  Pattison. 

February  23d. 

My  Dear  Miss  Pattison  : 

I hope  you  will  pardon  me  if  I address  a few 
lines  to  you.  I waited  on  the  porch  and  about 
the  grounds  nearly  all  the  morning  in  the  hope 
of  seeing  you.  I wanted  to  say  that  I regret 
having  forced  upon  you  yesterday  so  much  that 
you  were  evidently  unwilling  to  hear.  I sup- 
pose I ought  to  apologize  to  you  for  having 
taken  advantage  of  your  position,  and  yet  I 
intended  nothing  of  the  sort.  I am  hampered 
every  moment,  it  seems  to  me,  by  these  miser- 
able conventionalities.  Bear  with  me  a little, 
and  pray  let  me  say  a few  words  to  you.  I am 
resolved  not  to  harass  you,  and  have  made  up 


CUPID,  M,D, 


77 


my  mind  to  wait  a little  longer  and  see  if  I can- 
not win  some  favor  in  your  eyes  before  I ad- 
dress you  again,  for  I certainly  shall  ask  you 
again,  one  day,  unless  you  are  pledged  to  some 
other  man.  Meanwhile  I shall  leave  you  in 
peace.  I meant  to  all  along,  but  yesterday  the 
impulse  was  too  much  for  me.  How  can  I be 
silent  ? How  can  I ? Why  may  I not  tell  you 
of  this  great  love  that  consumes  me  ? Does 
not  love  make  love  ? How  does  a bird  win  its 
mate  ? One  of  the  two  must  always  be  the 
first  to  love,  and  how  are  you  to  know  unless 
I tell  you  ? You  would  despise  me,  and  I 
should  despise  myself,  if  I were  to  employ  any 
subterfuges  with  you,  or  descend  to  the  wheed- 
ling arts  with  which  a man  bent  on  pleasure 
wins  over  a woman.  I never  show  off  before 
you — never  air  my  little  graces,  because  I am  so 
anxious  to  be  honest  with  you.  I can  sing,  but 
you  have  never  heard  me.  I love  you  for  your- 
self, not  because  you  are  beautiful,  nor  because 


78 


CUPID,  M.D, 


you  please  my  taste  and  sensibilities  ; and  I 
should  love  you  just  as  much  if  you  were  pitted 
with  the  small-pox.  And  I want  to  be  loved  for 
myself.  Do  not  think  me  conceited.  I know 
that  you  can  see  little  in  me  to  justify  any  such 
hope,  but  still  I do  hope  that  when  you  come  to 
know  my  heart  and  my  true  nature  you  will  not 
find  me  altogether  unlovable.  I have  been  fool- 
ish and  careless  in  my  mode  of  life,  and  there  is 
much  that  I regret  in  my  past,  but  the  hope  of 
your  love  has  seemed  to  hallow  every  thought, 
and  change  the  standard  of  conduct  I have 
hitherto  been  content  with.  There  is  a holy  of 
holies  in  every  true  man's  heart,  and  there  you 
are  enshrined. 

“ O,  loved  the  most  when  most  I feel 
There  is  a lower  and  a higher,” 

That  is  what  I mean  ; and  this,  too,  is  what  I 
mean  : 

“ Behold,  I dream  a dream  of  good, 

And  mingle  all  the  world  with  thee.” 


CUPID,  M,D. 


79 


Can  you  wonder  that  I want  you  to  know  this  ? 
You  spoke  yesterday  of  a girl’s  love  being  all 
she  had  to  give,  as  if  you  were  afraid  of  what  I 
might  be.  That  is  not  to  be  wondered  at. 
You  could  scarcely  trust  me  till  you  knew  me 
better.  But  what  I now  tell  you  is  absolutely 
true,  and  I wish  you  to  hear  it  from  me  before 
my  lips  are  sealed,  as  sealed  they  must  be,  at 
all  events  for  the  present.  I want  you  to  know 
that  I love  you  with  my  good  side  uppermost, 
and  with  the  base  hidden  out  of  sight  ; I well 
know  how  unworthy  of  you  even  my  best  is, 
but  a man’s  true  love  is  the  highest  homage  he 
can  pay  a woman,  and  that  homage  I pay  you. 

I said  in  the  park  yesterday  that  I wished  to 
tell  you  something  else,  but  on  second  thoughts 
I have  changed  my  mind.  It  had  mainly  to  do 
with  my  health.  I am  but  a poor  wreck  of  a 
man  at  present,  but  if  I regain  my  health  I shall 
be  justified  on  that  score.  Alas  ! a man  should 
seek  his  love  boldly,  and  claim  her  as  his  right, 


8o 


CUPID,  M.D, 


and  win  her  for  his  own,  but  I — I must  wait. 
My  tongue  is  tied  when  I am  with  you,  and 
even  if  it  were  not,  I must  keep  silence  for  a 
time.  You  may  rest  assured  that  during  your 
stay  here  no  word  of  love  shall  pass  my  lips. 
I will  set  a guard  on  them.  Only  let  me  see 
you — that  is  all  I ask.  I have  but  one  hope, 
and  that  is  in  the  strength  and  truth  of  my 
love  for  you.  But  do  not  shut  me  out  from 
everything.  Let  me  look  at  you  and  hear  your 
voice,  and  I will  never  offend  you.  Perhaps  I 
ought  to  say  that  my  friend  Wykeham  knows 
all  about  this,  as  you  may  have  guessed.  He 
will  be  here  a few  days,  but  you  may  trust  him, 
as  he  is  a man  of  scrupulous  honor. 

If  I have  caused  you  pain  by  this  letter,  pray 
forgive  me.  I cannot  help  it  ; I will  not  sur- 
render my  chance  of  winning  you  for  lack  of  a 
word.  I hate  all  these  miserable  trammels 
which  put  a woman  out  of  reach,  and  I have  an 
idea  that  in  America  they  go  for  less  than  they 


CUPID,  M,D, 


8i 


do  here.  But  you  have  my  promise  that  I will 
not  intrude  upon  you  now.  And  remember 
that  not  till  I hear  from  your  own  lips  that  you 
are  promised  to  another  shall  I abandon  hope  ; 
for  I am  resolved  that  with  those  very  lips  you 
shall  tell  me  that  your  heart  is  mine. 

Yours — till  my  dying  day,  yours, 

Eliot  Blake. 


82 


CUPID,  M.D, 


XVIII. 

Lady  Gore  to  John  Wykeham. 

Leighton,  February  25,  1878. 

My  Dear  Mr.  Wykeham  : 

Since  your  letter  reached  me  yesterday  I 
have  scarcely  thought  of  anything  else.  My 
poor  brother ! I wish  I could  go  to  him  at 
once,  that  is  if  you  thought  I could  be  of  any 
help  to  him,  but  I have  a house  full  of  people, 
and  on  the  loth  the  Archaeological  Society 
meets,  and  I am  afraid  I have  more  people 
coming  than  I have  beds  for.  Sir  William  is 
not  well,  either,  and  has  been  laid  up  since 
Monday  with  a touch  of  the  gout.  It  is  there- 
fore doubly  comforting  to  me  to  know  that  you 
are  with  Eliot,  and  I hope  you  will  find  it  pos- 
sible to  make  him  a good  visit. 


CUPID,  M.D, 


S3 


The  sad  news  you  conveyed  to  me  was  quite 
unexpected.  Of  course,  I have  been  greatly 
concerned  about  Eliot,  but  when  I was  last  in 
town  Dr.  Daubeny  said  nothing  about  the 
opium,  and  I presume  he  must  have  known  of 
it.  What  in  the  world  can  be  done  to  save 
him  ? I remember  having  been  told  that  this 
habit  of  taking  opium  is  the  most  irresistible 
and  fatal  of  all  habits — that  it  is  deadly  in  its 
effects  on  body,  mind,  and  soul,  and  when  I 
think  of  my  Eltie  at  such  a pass  I am  almost 
distracted.  What  can  I do  ? Is  that  place  at 
Dudington  really  the  best  place  for  him  ? Sir 
William  says  he  has  heard  it  highly  spoken  of. 
What  do  the  doctors  propose  to  do  ? I shall 
write  at  once  to  Dr.  Daubeny.  I do  not  under- 
stand how  the  habit  has  grown  to  such  an  ex- 
tent without  my  having  known  of  it,  nor  can  I 
yet  see  how  it  was  contracted  ; for  Eliot,  though 
always  headstrong  and  fond  of  his  own  way, 
has  never  been  intemperate,  as  you  well  know. 


84 


CUPID,  M.D. 


Of  course  we  must  save  him  if  he  can  be 
saved.  Do  not  misunderstand  me,  my  dear 
Mr.  Wykeham,  but  I don't  think  you  are  quite 
fair  to  Miss  Pattison  in  what  you  propose — 
that  Eliot's  passion  for  her  should  be  utilized  at 
her  expense,  as  it  were.  But  perhaps  you  do 
not  mean  quite  so  much,  and  merely  suggest 
that  things  shall  take  their  own  course.  I cannot 
quite  reconcile  Eliot's  state  of  health  with  his 
state  of  mind.  As  to  his  being  really  in  love 
with  her,  I should  be  inclined  to  doubt  it.  More 
than  once  within  the  past  few  years  I have 
/heard  him  vow  eternal  devotion  to  some  young 
1 lady,  and  on  one  occasion  I even  went  to  call 
/ on  one  of  them  at  his  request.  But  he  has 
gradually  drifted  away  from  them.  Of  course 
1 want  to  see  him  settled,  that  is  if  he  recov- 
ers his  health  ; and  when  I heard  of  his  being 
attentive  to  this  American  girl,  having  her 
predecessors  in  mind,  I scarcely  knew  what  to 
think ; but  when  I saw  her  I at  once  made  up 


CUPID,  M.D. 


85 


my  mind  that  she  was  a great  prize,  and  that 
Eliot  would  be  a very  fortunate  man  if  he  got 
her.  The  event  proved  that  I was  right  in  a 
measure,  for  the  girl,  like  every  noble  girl,  does 
not  hold  herself  cheaply,  to  be  won  in  an  hour. 
Eliot  can  be  very  fascinating  with  women, 
though,  and  I should  not  wonder  if  she  became 
interested  in  him  if  they  are  thrown  much 
together.  Perhaps  the  very  fact  that  he  has 
never  said  a word  to  me  about  this  new  love 
affair  may  be  significant,  and  he  is  pretty  safe 
to  ask  her  again,  though,  as  I said,  I shall 
not  believe  he  is  really  in  love  until  he  is  mar- 
ried. 

The  truth  is,  that  I feel  reluctantly  obliged 
to  confess  that  I think  she  is  a little  too  good 
for  Iiim.  I speak  utterly  without  reserve  to 
you,  for  I know  you  to  be  his  best  friend.  At 
first  I really  dreaded  her,  and  at  this  moment  I 
am  totally  in  the  dark  as  to  who  she  is,  as  we 
say,  and  what  her  people  may  be.  America  and 


86 


CUPID,  M.D. 


England  are  now  much  nearer  than  they  used 
to  be,  yet  still  I think,  on  general  principles, 
that  an  Englishman  ought  to  marry  an  English 
wife.  But  it  cannot  be  denied  that  there  is 
something  peculiarly  attractive  about  this  girl. 
Her  face  is  not  merely  lovely— it  is  good  ; it  is 
the  reflection  of  a high  nature  and  an  unspotted 
mind.  A woman  is  quick  to  recognize  one 
quality  in  a woman,  and  that  is  honesty:  and  if 
ever  eyes  and  expression  spoke  honesty,  they  do 
with  her.  There  is  something  attractive  even 
in  the  way  she  wears  her  clothes.  I think  that 
part  of  her  grace  is  due  to  her  head,  which  is 
so  small  and  almost  classic  in  outline,  remind- 
^ ing  me  of  that  statue— which  is  it,  the  Psyche  ? 
— at  Naples.  And  I confess  I do  like  to  see  a 
girl  with  a clear  skin.  But  what  has  all  this  to 
do  with  it  ? I am  very  foolish  to  ramble  on 
this  way.  All  I mean  is  that  I think  she  is  an 
exceptionally  sweet  girl,  and  perhaps  I should 
explain  my  meaning  more  clearly  if  I said  that 


CUPID,  M.D, 


87 


Eliot,  in  his  present  condition,  ought  not  to 
dream  of  success  with  her.  When  he  is 
at  his  best  he  is  worthy  of  any  girl’s  love, 
but  alas  ! shall  we  ever  see  him  the  joyous, 
careless,  sweet-tempered  Eliot  of  old  days, 
whose  very  failings  were  almost  dear  to  us  ! 
Ah,  if  he  had  not  insisted  on  riding  that  terri- 
ble horse  ! But  he  always  would  have  his 
own  way.  Is  he  to  find  his  master  at  last  in 
opium  ? 

I must  stop.  I see  that  there  is  nothing  for 
me  to  do  but  hope  and  pray.  I entreat  you 
to  stay  with  him  as  long  as  possible.  I sup- 
pose that  my  presence,  as  you  so  gently  hint, 
would  only  be  a drawback.  I shall  be  glad 
when  our  gay  times  down  here  are  over,  for 
I have  little  heart  for  it  all.  The  theatricals 
were  very  successful,  though  we  missed  you 
sadly.  If  Eliot  gets  well  you  must  both  come 
down. 

Good-by.  Sir  William  would  join  me  in 


88 


CUPID,  M.D, 


kindest  remembrances  if  he  knew  of  my  writ- 
ing. 

Pray  believe  me,  always  sincerely  yours, 

Clara  Gore. 

P.  S. — On  reading  over  my  letter  it  occurs  to 
me  to  say  that  of  course  I understand  that 
everything  depends  on  his  recovery.  It  seems 
idle  to  speculate  about  the  future  while  he  is  in 
this  state.  And  you  must  not  think  that  be- 
cause I have  schooled  myself  to  write  calmly 
about  my  poor  brother,  I take  all  this  sorrow 
calmly.  My  heart  is  half  broken  with  it. 

C.  G. 


CUPID,  M.D. 


89 


XIX. 

Lily’s  Diary. 

February  28th.  Once  more  I turn  to  my 
little  book.  I am  thankful  it  has  a lock  and 
key. 

I have  had  nearly  a week  in  which  to  reflect 
upon  Mr.  Blake’s  second  proposal  to  me.  I 
am  bound  to  say  that  he  has  kept  his  word,  as 
he  promised  in  the  letter  he  wrote  me,  and  our 
intercourse  has  been  quite  commonplace,  gen- 
erally speaking.  This  is  fortunate,  for  mamma 
is  very  uneasy,  and  has  almost  insisted  on  my 
seeing  nothing  of  him  ; but  this  place  would 
certainly  be  far  more  dull  than  it  is,  without 
these  two  gentlemen.  I told  her  I was  quite 
able  to  take  care  of  myself. 


90 


CUPID,  M,D, 


Oh  dear ! I am  in  such  a restless,  uneasy 
frame  of  mind.  I am  an  enigma  to  myself.  I 
am  provoked  with  myself  for  thinking  so  much 
about  Mr.  Blake.  He  certainly  is  one  of  the 
strangest  men  I ever  met.  Why  does  he  influ- 
ence me  so  ? 

I am  certain  there  is  some  mystery  about 
him.  He  is  peculiar.  I have  had  plenty  of 
opportunities  for  studying  him,  and  yet  I can- 
not make  him  out.  One  day  he  was  telling  me 
about  his  history,  and  that  did  not  enlighten 
me,  for  so  far  as  I can  see  he  has  never  done 
anything.  Hunting,  fishing,  shooting,  and 
yachting  seem  to  have  occupied  his  entire 
time. 


7 I must  say  I like  him.  There  is  more  in  him 
than  there  is  in  Mr.  Wykeham.  He  is  a little 
dandified,  and  in  that  respect  is  unlike  most  of 
the  Englishmen  I have  met.  I notice  that  he 
takes  great  care  of  his  hands,  and  he  is  very 
particular  about  his  shoes,  and  seems  to  be  un- 


CUPID,  M,D. 


91 


happy  if  they  are  dirty.  But  he  has  that  easy 
style  of  dress  that  they  all  have  over  here. 

There  ! Is  that  the  sum  and  substance  of 
him  ? Not  at  all.  He  has  something  in  him 
that  I can’t  fathom,  something  that  does  not 
appear  on  the  surface.  Once  or  twice  when  he 
has  quoted  a few  lines  of  poetry  I have  noticed 
it.  I think  it  is  a sort  of  romantic  intensity  of 
nature,  or  some  special  tenderness  of  heart; 
and  this  is  coupled  with  so  much  simplicity  and 
frankness  that  I can  quite  believe  Mr.  Wyke- 
ham  when  he  says  he  is  a man  of  many  friends. 
Yet  he  takes  very  little  pains  to  conciliate 
people,  and  is  rather  audacious  at  times.  The 
other  day  he  said  to  me,  ‘‘  I like  you  best  in  a 
black  cloth  dress,  with  a little  straight  collar 
and  cuffs,  and  a round  hat  on.’' 

The  idea ! 

I am  sure  he  suffers  a great  deal  of  pain, 
probably  from  his  arm.  Mrs.  Poynter  insists 
upon  it  that  there  is  something  else  the  matter 


92 


CUPID,  M.D. 


with  him,  but  I cannot  conceive  how  she  can 
pry  into  other  people's  affairs  as  she  does.  She 
is  a natural  born  gossip.  Mamma  has  taken  a 
great  dislike  to  her,  and  so  have  I.  I am  so 
glad  mamma  has  this  dear  old  Mrs.  Mackenzie 
to  talk  to. 

March  2d.  Mr.  Blake  is  more  of  an  enigma 
than  ever ! I ventured  to  tell  him  so  to-day, 
and  he  said  : 

‘‘  Perhaps  you  will  solve  it  before  long.  I 
will  give  you  a clew  : and  then  he  wrote  these 
lines  on  the  back  of  an  envelope,  and  handed 
them  to  me  : 


“ Beware  ! beware 


His  flashing  eyes,  his  floating  hair  ! 

Weave  a circle  round  him  thrice, 
And  close  your  eyes  with  holy  dread, 
For  he  on  honey-dew  hath  fed. 

And  drunk  the  milk  of  Paradise.” 


Now  what  in  the  world  does  this  mean  ? 
When  I asked  him  he  only  smiled.  We  walked 


CUPID,  M.D. 


93 


on  for  a while  in  perfect  silence.  Then  he 
said, 

Do  you  know  who  wrote  that  ? 

No,''  said  I. 

But  it’s  from  quite  a well-known  poem,"  he 
said. 

My  education  has  been  neglected,  you  see." 

No,"  he  replied,  hastily,  ‘‘  you  know  I 
didn't  mean  that.  Never  mind.  By  and  by 
you  will  know  what  little  there  is  to  be  known." 
Then  we  walked  into  the  house. 

The  calm  certainty  with  which  he  talks  of  the 
future  half  amuses  and  half  frightens  me.  But 
his  manner  is  so  tender  and  gentle  with  me  ! 
Never  a word  of  love  does  he  speak,  and  yet  I 
can  see  it  in  his  eyes  all  the  time. 

/ Is  this  kind  of  wooing  more  dangerous  than 
^ the  other  ? 


CUPID,  M.D. 


94 


XX. 

Dr.  Rich  to  John  Wykeham. 

The  Hygienic  Hotel,  Dudington,  W., 

March  i8,  1878. 

My  Dear  Sir : 

As  you  requested  when  you  left,  I send  you 
a brief  report  of  Mr.  Blake's  condition.  He  is 
gaining  rapidly  on  the  morphia,  but  the  strain 
is  great,  and  he  is  a man  of  such  nervous  and  ex- 
citable temperament,  that  we  are  a little  appre- 
hensive of  how  he  will  bear  further  reductions 
of  the  dose.  For  this  reason  I am  taking  it  off 
rather  more  abruptly  than  I at  first  intended. 
Shortly  after  your  departure  we  effected  with- 
out opposition  the  most  important  reduction  of 
all,  and  induced  him  to  abandon  the  use  of  the 
hypodermic  syringe.  He  manfully  handed  to 


CUPID,  M.D. 


9S 

me  the  different  instruments  in  his  possession, 
and  has  never  since  asked  for  them,  except  on 
one  occasion,  when  a slight  lapse  of  will  was 
quite  pardonable,  as  he  was  taken  with  one  of 
the  severe  neuralgic  headaches  that  inevitably 
attend  the  discontinuance  of  the  morphia.  For 
several  hours  he  suffered  acutely,  and  quite  lost 
his  patience  with  me  because  I refused  to  ad- 
minister a subcutaneous  dose  ; but  I gave  him 
considerable  quantities  of  valerian  and  other 
comparatively  harmless  anodynes,  and  the  pain 
ultimately  yielded  to  them.  He  could  not  re- 
alize, poor  fellow,  that  one  dose  such  as  he  pro- 
posed would  probably  have  neutralized  the 
good  work  of  the  previous  fortnight. 

In  general,  however,  I could  not  ask  for  a 
more  tractable  patient,  nor  a more  courageous 
one.  He  is  not  aware  himself  of  the  progress 
he  has  made  ; the  truth  is,  that  he  is  now  tak- 
ing only  eight  grains  a day,  and  this  by  the 
mouth.  It  would  be  impossible  for  him  to 


96 


CUPID,  M,D. 


accomplish  this  without  having  recourse  to  sub- 
stitutes, so  I furnish  him  with  a mixture  of  that 
much-discussed  drug  cannabis  Didica  (probably 
familiar  to  you  under  the  name  of  hashish),  and 
also  with  a strong  extract  of  wheat ; he  is  tak- 
ing, moreover,  plenty  of  malt  and  hops,  though 
I discourage  spirits,  and  he  smokes  nearly  all 
the  time. 

Of  his  pluck  and  courage  in  this  trying  ordeal 
I can  only  speak  in  the  highest  terms  of  admira- 
tion. He  seems  to  realize  his  position,  and  to 
be  really  anxious  to  second  us  in  every  way, 
and  this,  I need  not  tell  you,  is  half  the  battle. 
I do  not  think  that  the  effects  on  his  mental  or 
his  moral  nature  will  be  serious  or  lasting.  I 
have  not  noticed  in  him  any  of  the  hallucinations 
which  sooner  or  later  accompany  the  habit ; his 
memory,  too,  is  unimpaired.  I think  you  said 
he  had  always  prided  himself  somewhat  on  his 
quick  and  retentive  memory,  and  to  test  it  I 
asked  him  to  repeat  anything  he  knew  by  heart, 


CUPID,  M.D, 


97 


telling  him  frankly  just  what  my  object  was. 
He  recited  at  once  passages  from  Homer,  Hor- 
ace, Schiller,  De  Musset,  and  other  authors, 
until  I had  quite  enough  of  it.  Then,  thinking 
that  the  repetition  of  these  poems  might  be 
somewhat  mechanical  and  parrot-like,  I asked 
him  to  commit  something  while  I went  to  see 
another  patient.  I returned  in  less  than  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour,  and  he  repeated  a column 
of  the  Saturday  Review,  which  quite  astonished 
me ; and  I was  much  interested  in  his  method 
of  committing,  which  he  explained  to  me.  All 
this  goes  to  prove  that  his  mind  has  not  be- 
come enfeebled  by  the  drug. 

I have  had  no  reason  as  yet  to  doubt  his 

honesty  in  matters  connected  with  opium,  and 

this  is  saying  a good  deal.  One  poor  lady, 

whose  room  is  on  the  same  floor  as  Mr.  Blake’s, 

and  who  is  undergoing  treatment  for  precisely 

the  same  thing  (only  the  habit  is  of  longer 

standing),  ha§  given  me  endless  trouble  by  her 
7 


98 


CUPID,  M.D. 


dishonesty.  It  is  not  her  fault.  I fear  we  can 
never  do  anything  for  her.  Only  three  days 
since  I went  into  her  room  and  she  was  lying 
asleep,  in  the  unmistakable  stupor  of  opium.  I 
wakened  her  and  taxed  her  with  it ; she  pro- 
tested her  innocence  vehemently,  and  not  till  I 
threatened  to  search  her  clothes  did  she  con- 
fess that  morphia  had  been  sent  to  her  in  en- 
velopes, by  post.  She  was  very  penitent,  and 
wept  profusely  ; but  there  is  no  dependence  to 
be  placed  upon  a word  she  says.  Such  cases 
are  very  sad. 

My  letter  has  grown  to  a greater  length  than 

I intended,  but  I know  how  anxious  you  are 

about  your  friend,  and,  indeed,  we  all  take  the 

greatest  interest  in  him  ourselves.  I hope  he 

% 

will  pull  through,  though  the  real  struggle 
comes  within  the  next  six  weeks,  and  we  shall 
soon  know.  I am  trying  to  have  him  enter  this 
closing  effort  in  as  good  shape  as  possible  ; still, 
I am  not  sanguine  of  the  result : his  will  might 


CUPID,  M.D, 


99 


break  down  at  the  last  minute.  You  will  be 
glad  to  hear  that  Mr.  Pattison  is  much  better, 
and  gets  about  very  comfortably  in  a Bath 
chair. 

With  kind  regards,  I am  sincerely  yours, 

J.  K.  Rich, 


lOO 


CUPID,  M.D. 


XXI. 

Eliot  Blake  to  John  Wykeham. 

March  20th. 

I am  not  fit  to  write  to  you.  I loathe  my- 
self. I shall  never  overcome  this  fearful  thing. 
Don’t  write  to  me.  Don’t  say  a word  to  me. 
Dr.  Rich  knows  all  about  it.  I had  three 
hundred  grains  in  my  portmanteau,  and  yester- 
day— like  a fool — like  a FOOL — I yielded  to  it. 
This  was  worse  than  the  other  time,  and  all  my 
courage  is  gone — this  time  forever.  Nothing 
short  of  a miracle  can  save  me  now. 

Nothing  short  of  a miracle,  unless O 

Jack,  I am  a miserable  creature  ! I vacillate  so  ! 
Can  there  be  a ray  of  hope  for  me  ? I was 
going  on  so  well.  Strange  to  say,  to-day  I 
have  been  content  with  my  regular  dose,  but  I 


CUPID,  M,D. 


lOI 


suppose  the  effect  of  my  excess  is  cumulative, 
and  has  lasted  over  to-day.  All  the  house  will 
know  of  it.  I went  sound  asleep  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  staggered  about  so  when  I woke 
up  that  they  all  thought  I was  drunk,  especially 
Mrs.  Poynter.  And  to  my  great  regret,  Dr. 
Rich  thought  it  necessary  to  inform  her  of 
the  true  state  of  the  case,  and  now  it  will  be 
public  property,  for  she  is  an  incurable  gossip. 
He  does  not  know  her  so  well  as  I do.  Though 
I have  been  on  the  point  of  telling  Lily  all 
about  this  vile  habit,  and  throwing  myself  on 
her  mercy,  so  to  speak,  yet  I have  never  quite 
mustered  up  the  courage,  and  she  is  still  in  the 
dark.  Sooner  or  later,  however,  she  would 
have  to  knoVv  of  it.  But  I should  prefer  to  tell 
her  myself.  It  won’t  make  much  difference, 
though.  I have  lost  her  now. 

Since  I wrote  the  above  Dr.  Rich  has  been 
in.  He  asked  me  to  give  him  the  morphia, 
and  I was  about  to  do  so,  but  Dr.  Martin 


102 


CUPID,  M.D, 


appeared  just  at  that  moment,  and  handed 
it  back  to  me  ! Bless  his  old  heart ! He  said 
it  must  be  all  or  nothing  with  me,  and  I feel 
comforted  to  think  that  he  still  has  a vestige 
of  confidence  in  me.  Now  this  is  what  I 
mean  when  I say  I vacillate  so ; when  I began 
this  note,  I felt  utterly  despondent ; now,  after 
a single  word  of  encouragement,  I feel  as  if 
there  might  still  be  some  hope.  Shall  I set  the 
miserable  stuff  out  on  my  table  and  say  to  it, 
^‘Are  you  Eliot  Blake’s  master,  or  am  I?” 
Or  shall  I give  it  all  up — and  die  ? 

Dear  old  man,  my  excuse  for  inflicting  all 
this  on  you  is  simply  that  there  is  no  other 
human  being  to  whom  I can  talk  as  I can  to 
you.  Forgive  me.  Don’t  answer  this.  You 
could  only  reproach  me. 

Ah,  woe  is  me  ! 


Yours, 


E.  B. 


CUPID,  M.D, 


103 


XXII. 

Miss  Lily  Pattison  to  Miss  Caroline  Perkins. 

The  Hygienic  Hotel,  March  22,  1878. 

Dearest  Carrie  : 

Your  letter  has  just  reached  me,  and  it  really 
is  odd  that  you  should  ask  so  much  about  Mr. 
Blake,  for  I confess  that  to-day  he  has  the 
lion's  share  of  my  thoughts,  as  I heard  a terri- 
ble piece  of  news  about  him.  I told  you  there 
was  a mystery  connected  with  him,  and  it  has 
resolved  itself  into  a very  simple  yet  very  fright- 
ful fact.  He  takes  opium.  That  Mrs.  Poynter 
told  me  all  about  it  yesterday.  Of  course  she 
found  out  all  about  it.  Carrie,  I positively 
detest  that  woman.  Instead  of  sympathizing 
with  poor  Mr.  Blake,  she  almost  seemed  to 


104 


CUPID,  M.D. 


gloat  over  her  discovery.  I presume  she  has 
informed  every  one  in  the  house  by  this  time. 

Isn’t  it  awful  ? I believe  it’s  a great  deal 
worse  than  drinking,  but  I don’t  know  much 
about  it.  The  worst  of  it  is,  according  to  Mrs. 
Poynter,  that  he  had  almost  got  cured  of  the 
habit,  and  then  relapsed  into  it  again.  I feel 
so  sorry  for  him  ! If  I could  only  do  some- 
thing to  help  him  ! I haven’t  seen  him  for  two 
or  three  days,  but  when  I do  I think  I must 
speak  to  him  about  it.  I cannot  tell  you  how 
good  and  lovely  he  has  been  to  me.  Almost 
every  day  he  has' planned  something  for  our 
pleasure  ; and  will  you  believe  it,  mamma,  who 
couldn’t  abide  him  at  first,  is  really  fond  of 
him.  We  have  learned  so  much  about  Eng- 
land from  him  and  his  friends.  You  remember 
how  much  I regretted  having  to  come  here  at 
first  ? Well,  now  I am  very  glad  we  came. 
We  have  explored  this  lovely  county  of  Mid- 
dlesex, and  even  parts  of  Surrey,  very  thor- 


CUPID,  M.D. 


105 


oughly ; I told  you  about  our  picnic  the  day 
we  went  to  Wickfield,  and  since  then  we  have 
been  to  several  other  great  houses,  and  have 
been  all  over  this  part  of  the  Thames.  I have 
never  seen  anything,  in  its  way,  so  exquisite  as 
the  Thames.  I often  go  to  Brentford  and  Kew 
Bridge,  just  to  look  at  it.  Sometimes  I drive 
in  a little  pony-chaise  we  have  hired,  and  some- 
times I walk ; and  I have  grown  to  bless  papa 
for  making  me  wear  low-heeled  shoes,  like 
these  English  girls.  You  know,  dear,  that 
ever  since  I have  been  old  enough  to  under- 
stand anything,  the  wickedness  of  wearing  high 
heels  has  been  faithfully  dinned  into  my  ears ; 
and  I am  glad  of  it  now,  for  I think  nothing  of 
five  miles.  The  leaves  will  be  out  soon,  and 
then  everything  will  be  lovelier  still. 

I am  so  much  grieved  over  poor  Mr.  Blake 
that  I cannot  think  of  anything  else.  So  much 
is  now  explained  to  me  ! All  that  restless,  un- 
easy, haunted  look  in  his  eyes,  and  his  depres- 


io6 


CUPID,  M,D. 


sion  at  times.  To  be  sure,  I can  only  guess, 
but  I feel  certain  that  all  this  depression  has 
been  caused  by  that  horrid  opium  ; for  he  is 
too  noble  a man  to  rest  tranquilly  under  such  a 
ban.  I know  him  so  well  now  : and  though  he 
would  never  guess  it,  I can  sometimes  read  his 
thoughts  in  his  face.  Since  I last  wrote  to  you 
he  has  not  said  a word  that  could  be  consid- 
ered love-making- — that  is,  exactly.  I am  glad 
of  this.  Somehow  he  has  contrived  to  make 
himself  pleasant — far  pleasanter  than  if  he  were 
making  love.  Just  think  of  the  state  he  must 
be  in ! 

As  for  that  Mrs.  Poynter,  I shall  never  be 
able  to  endure  her.  The  idea  of  saying  to 
mamma  that  Mr.  Blake  was  a dangerous 
companion  for  a young  girl  ! I shall  cer- 
tainly not  show  him  the  cold  shoulder  now 
that  he  is  in  trouble,  especially  since  he  has 
been  so  kind.  And  as  for  her  opinion,  I do 
not  value  it  very  highly.  Sarah  says  they  say 


CUPID,  M,D. 


107 


rather  queer  things  about  her  in  the  servants' 
hall. 

This  letter  is  all  about  Mr.  Blake,  but  I have 
no  time  to  add  more,  except  to  thank  you  once 
more,  dear,  for  all  the  pleasant  home  news. 
Give  my  love  to  them  all,  and  write  again  very 
soon  to  Your  loving 

Lily. 

P.S. — Neutral  greens  and  browns  are  to  be 
worn  a great  deal  this  spring,  I hear.  I have  a 
lovely  navy  blue  serge  for  walking.  Got  the 
stuff  at  Swan  & Edgar's. 


CUPID,  M,D. 


loS 


XXIIL 

Lily’s  Diary. 

March  29th.  We  are  going  to  leave  here  to- 
morrow ! The  most  dreadful  things  have  hap- 
pened ! And  I have  never  seen  papa  in  such  a 
state  ! I must  put  it  all  down. 

Yesterday  morning  I met  Mr.  Blake  in  the 
grounds.  It  was  the  first  time  I had  seen  him 
for  several  days,  and  I was  shocked  with  his 
appearance,  he  was  so  haggard  and  worn. 
There  were  dark  lines  round  his  eyes,  and  his 
cheeks  were  sunken  and  almost  colorless.  He 
raised  his  hat,  and  was  going  to  pass  on,  but  I 
stopped  him. 

‘‘I  haven’t  seen  you  for  a perfect  age,”  I 
said.  I am  afraid  you  haven’t  been  well.” 


CUPID,  M.D, 


109 


‘‘No/'  he  replied,  “I  have  been  very  far 
from  well.  May  I walk  a little  v/ay  with 
you  ? 

“ Certainly  you  may."  He  spoke  so  timidly 
that  I answered  rather  emphatically,  to  reas- 
sure him.  I knew  what  was  passing  through 
his  mind. 

“ I scarcely  feel  as  if  I ought  to  ask  even  this 
favor  of  you,"  he  said,  sadly.  “ I dare  say  you 
have  heard — something  about  me,  haven’t 
you  ? " 

“Oh,  in  a place  of  this  kind,  one  is  always 
hearing  more  or  less  tittle-tattle.  They  haven't 
anything  else  to  do." 

“ But  you  did  hear  something,  didn't  you  ? " 
he  continued.  “ Pray,  tell  me,  because,  if  you 
didn't,  I want  to  tell  you  myself." 

“Well,  Mr.  Blake,  to  be  perfectly  honest,  I 
suppose  I know  what  you  mean.  They  do  say 
that  you  are " I hesitated. 

“ Oh,  say  it  right  out,"  he  interrupted,  wav- 


no 


CUPID,  M.D, 


ing  his  cane  wildly  in  front  of  him.  ‘‘  I ought 
to  be  used  to  it  by  this  time.  They  say  that  I 
take  opium — or  morphia,  which  is  worse — that 
I am  an  opium-eater,  or  an  opium-drunkard. 
Well,  it  is  so.  It  is  all  true.  I am  just  what 
they  say  I am.'’ 

‘‘  I am  so  sorry  ! ” I said. 

I have  been  meaning  to  tell  you  about  it 
for  a long  time  past.  Several  times  I have 
been  on  the  point  of  it.  It  is  very  good  of  you 
to  say  you  are  sorry.  Perhaps  you  have  a clew 
now  to  my  state  of  mind  lately.  You  can  guess 
what  I have  suffered.  I have  been  possessed 
with  a feverish  desire  to  conquer  the  habit  be- 
fore you  knew  of  it,  but,  as  you  see,  I have 
failed." 

“ But  you  are  not  going  to  give  it  up  ? " I 
asked.  ‘‘  I mean,  you  are  still  resolved  to 
overcome  it,  aren't  you  ? " 

Oh,  yes,"  he  replied,  if  I possibly  can, 
but  I have  lost  courage  lately.  It  never  was 


CUPID,  M,D. 


Ill 


my  fault  that  I drifted  into  it.  The  horrible 
poison  got  a hold  upon  me  before  I knew  it. 
I don’t  believe  one  doctor  in  fifty  realizes  the 
responsibility  he  assumes  when  he  gives  his 
patient  opium.  Oh,  if  you  only  knew  how  I 
have  struggled  to  free  myself  from  it ! I an- 
swered quack  advertisements,  I did  everything 
under  the  sun.  The  habit  grew  in  spite  of  it 
all,  until  at  last  I came  here,  on  a sort  of  for- 
lorn hope.  For  over  two  months  I have  fought 
it  steadily,  aided  by  every  help  that  science 
could  afford  me,  and  with  a motive  of  my  own, 
into  the  bargain,  that  I deemed  more  potent 
than  all  the  resources  of  the  pharmacopoeia. 
You  know  what  I mean.  But  it  is  of  no  use,  I 
fear.  It  seems  like  hoping  against  hope,  now.” 

Ah,  don’t  say  that,  Mr.  Blake  ! ” 

Oh,  I am  still  keeping  at  it,  but  all  my 
pluck  seems  to  have  vanished.  The  doctors 
try  and  cheer  me  up,  and  say  that  this  relapse 
of  the  other  day  was  due  to  a too  rapid  reduc- 


II2 


CUPID,  M.D. 


tion  of  the  quantity  I am  taking.  You  know  I 
have  been  pursuing  a systematic  course  of 
treatment.  But  I beg  your  pardon.  I ought 
not  to  bother  you  with  all  this.'' 

He  seemed  so  forlorn  and  miserable  that  I 
resolved  to  encourage  him  not  to  abandon 
hope,  if  I could.  So  I said:  ‘‘It  doesn't 
bother  me  at  all,  Mr.  Blake.  I feel  a great 
deal  of  sympathy  for  you.  You  have  been  so 
kind  to  us,  and  you  are  almost  the  only  person 
we  know  at  all  well  in  England.  I wish  you 
could  get  over  it.  Tell  me  how  it  was  you 
came  to  give  way  the  other  day.  Perhaps  it 
might  help  you  to  talk  about  it  to  some  one." 

“Do  you  really  care  about  it?  Is  it  really 
anything  to  you  what  becomes  of  me  ? Oh,  if 
I thought  you — if  I thought  it  made  any  differ- 
ence to  you,  I think  I should  be  strong 
enough  for  anything  ! ” 

His  manner  changed,  and  the  deep  dejection 
of  his  air  changed  almost  into  enthusiasm. 


CUPID,  M,D. 


I did  not  mean  that  exactly.  You  are 
such  a volcano!’’  I added,  smiling.  ‘‘What 
I mean  is  that  I do  admire  above  all  things 
power  of  will,  and  I was  really  sorry  when  I 
heard  that  you  had  allowed  yours  to  relax. 
Tell  me  how  it  happened.” 

“ Oh,  I can’t,  I can’t,”  he  replied.  “ It’s  too 
humiliating  to  speak  of,  to  you  of  all  people 
in  the  world.  But  if  I thought  you  really 
cared ” 

“ Mr.  Blake,  excuse  me  if  I say  I don’t  think 
you  take  exactly  the  right  view  of  it.  You 
oughtn’t  to  be  influenced  by  me,  or  any  one 
else,  that  way.  Do  you  think  you  go  to  the 
right  place  for  help  ? Of  course  I don’t  know, 
and  perhaps  I oughtn’t  to  ask.” 

He  was  silent  for  a moment. 

“ I cannot  defend  myself,”  he  said  at  length, 
in  a low  voice.  “ Prayer  seems  a sort  of 
mockery  lately.  I know  I ought  to  pray,  but  I 

don’t,  somehow.  I wish  I could.” 

8 


CUPID,  M.D. 


114 

‘‘  If  you  wish  it,  why  don’t  you  pray,  then?  ” 
I asked  him.  ‘‘I  am  so  sure  that  is  the  only 
thing  ! I do  not  profess  to  be  good,  and  if  you 
knew  me  better,  you  would  see  how  very  far  I 
fall  short  of  my  own  ideal  of  Vv^hat  I ought  to 
be.  But  I believe  that  if  we  pray  hard  enough 
for  anything  that  seems  clearly  to  be  right,  our 
prayers  will  be  granted.  One  Sunday  papa 
took  me  to  St.  Paul’s,  to  hear  one  of  your  most 
famous  preachers,  and  he  preached  at  least  an 
hour,  I should  think,  upon  the  efficacy  of 
prayer.  It  was  a very  fine  sermon,  and  every 
one  seemed  greatly  impressed  with  it,  but  it 
conveyed  very  little  to  me.  In  the  first  place, 
I couldn’t  understand  it  all,  and  then  I confess 
that  I prefer  to  regard  prayer,  like  faith  and 
other  sacred  things,  as  less  a matter  of  reason- 
ing than  of  instinct.  According  to  my  view, 
the  faith  of  the  little  child  is  of  more  value 
than  all  the  arguments  of  theologians.  Every- 
thing that  has  come  right  so  far  in  my  life 


CUPID,  M,D, 


115 

has  been  due  to  my  praying  for  it.  I am  sure 
of  that.'’ 

^‘Yes,  but  look  at  the  difference  between 
your  life  and  mine,"  said  he.  ‘‘You  have 
grown  up  under  such  different  conditions.  I 
believe,  in  reality,  very  much  what  you  believe, 
but  with  women  matters  of  that  sort  assume 
such  a different  aspect.  You  are  shielded  from 
your  cradle,  and  stainlessness  of  life  is  indis- 
pensable to  you  ; your  whole  temper  and  habit 
is  favorable  to  virtue,  and  faith,  and  prayer. 
With  men,  the  world  at  large  condones  what 
would  be  unpardonable  in  women  ; and  many 
men,  like  myself,  who  are  not  governed  by  the 
highest  of  motives,  drift  into  careless  habits 
without  half  realizing  what  they  are  doing.  If 
I had  seen  you  three  years  ago,  I should  be  a 
very  different  man  now — yet  I must  not  quite 
say  that,  for  this  habit  of  the  opium  grew  up 
against  my  will,  and,  at  first,  almost  without 
my  knowledge.  Do  you  know,  when  you  say 


CUPID,  M.D. 


ii6 

to  me  that  I ought  to  pray  and  go  to  the  right 
place  for  help,  I feel  like  a convict.  Oh, 
listen  to  me,’’  he  said,  as  I was  about  to  pro* 
test.  ‘'You  know  you  have  unbounded  influ- 
ence with  me.  I care  more  for  what  you  say, 
and  for  your  good  opinion,  than  for  all  the  rest 
of  the  world  put  together.  Let  me  just  tell 
you  this  : I will  pray,  and  not  because  you 
wish  it  either,  but  because  I know  it  is  right ; 
and  if  you  will  only  wish  me  God-speed  in  it,  I 
will  make  one  more  effort,  but  this  time  it  will 
be  kill  or  cure.” 

He  looked  at  me  pleadingly,  and  held  out 
his  hand.  I don’t  know  why  it  was,  but  my 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  and,  guided  by  some 
curious  impulse,  I put  my  hand  in  his.  It  was 
like  touching  an  electric  battery. 

“ Oh,  Lily,  Lily,”  he  burst  forth,  “say  one 
word  to  help  me  ! One  word  from  you,  and  I 
will  swear  to  give  up  the  opium  forever ! I 
will  anyhow,  on  the  chance  ! Listen,”  he  said, 


CUPID,  M,D. 


117 

speaking  very  slowly,  and  holding  my  hand  as 
if  he  would  crush  the  bones  ; I will  not  make 
any  rash  or  absurd  promise.  I believe  they 
would  not  permit  me  to  discontinue  it  all  at 
once,  as  it  might  occasion  great  risk ; but  I do 
here  and  now  solemnly  swear  that  if  I am  alive 
on  the  1st  of  May  this  year,  1878,  I will  never 
again  touch  or  take  any  form  of  opium ; I swear 
this  by  the  love  I bear  you,  so  help  me  God  ! ” 
I was  frightened  by  his  vehemence.  But  I 
felt  so  glad  that  he  had  made  the  promise  ! 

Are  you  perfectly  sure  you  will  keep  it? 

I asked,  at  length. 

‘‘  Perfectly  ! I shall  not  fail  this  time.  Now, 
I tell  you  what  I am  going  to  do.  I am  going 
to  stay  in  my  room  here  till  I get  well,  and  I 
shall  never  look  upon  your  face  again  unless  I 
do  get  well.  And  I have  kept  my  word  this 
time  about  the  love-making,  too,  haven’t  I ? ” 
Pretty  well,”  I said,  with  a faint  effort  to 
smile. 


ii8 


CUPID,  M,D. 


‘‘Only  pretty  well?''  he  asked.  “Do  you 
know  what  I want  to  do,  every  minute  ? I 
long  to  fold  you  to  my  heart,  and — ^no  ! no  ! I 
will  not  say  it.  This  is  good-by.  Let  me  look 
into  your  eyes,  just  one  moment.” 

I cannot  explain  the  curious  fascination  Mr. 
Blake's  eyes  have  always  exercised  upon  me, 
especially  when  he  looks  intently  and  fixedly, 
as  he  did  then.  I was  powerless  to  move. 
All  of  a sudden  his  face  changed  ; the  basilisk- 
look  vanished,  and  in  its  stead  I could  see  a 
perfect  world  of  tenderness  in  his  gaze.  He 
drew  near  to  me,  and  whispered,  half  under  his 
breath,  “ My  love  ! My  love  ! ''  He  didn  t 
kiss  me,  but  he  whispered  quickly  in  my  ear, 
“Just  for  one  instant!”  and  he  touched  my 
cheek — my  left  cheek — with  his,  and  brushed 
it  lightly  across,  and — oh,  how  can  I describe 
it  ? In  that  second  I believe  I loved  him  ! 
The  scales  fell  from  my  eyes,  and  I under- 
stood 1 I knew  that  I loved  him ! It  was  a 


CUPID y M.D, 


119 

moment  of  bliss,  but  it  v/as  destined  to  be 
brief ; for  just  as  I was  on  the  point  of  rushing 
away,  but  before  we  had  either  of  us  moved,  a 
chair,  wheeled  by  one  of  the  bathmen,  turned 
the  corner  of  the  walk,  and  in  it  was  seated — 
PAPA  ! 

It  was  the  most  embarrassing  moment  I ever 
passed.  There  I was,  half-embraced  by  a gen- 
tleman, and  apparently — nay,  in  reality — con- 
senting to  the  whole  proceeding.  I thought  at 
once  of  the  impossibility  of  explaining  it  to 
papa.  But  something  had  to  be  done.  I 
turned  hurriedly  and  walked  off  in  the  oppo- 
site direction,  leaving  Mr.  Blake  to  face  papa 
alone. 

What  passed  between  them  I am  ignorant 
of ; but  within  a quarter  of  an  hour  papa  sent 
for  me.  The  minute  I saw  him  I knew  he  was 
in  a rage. 

‘‘  Lily,*’  he  said,  ‘‘  I presume  you  have  some 


120 


CUPID,  M.D. 


explanation  of  the  extraordinary  performance 
I interrupted  just  now/* 

‘‘No,  papa,  I am  afraid  I can’t  explain  it — 
that  is,  very  well.” 

“Then  I should  think  you  would  be  ashamed 
of  yourself.” 

“ I have  done  nothing  that  I am  ashamed 
of.** 

“ Well,**  said  he,  “ I am  ashamed  of  you,  at 
any  rate.  To  see  you  standing  there,  with  a 
comparative  stranger  hugging  and  kissing 
you ** 

“Papa!  He  wasn’t  hugging  and  kissing 
me  1 ** 

“ 1 say,  with  a comparative  stranger 

“ Papa  ! Will  you  please  let  me  explain  1 ** 

“ Explain  ! I just  asked  you  to  explain,  and 
you  said  you  had  no  explanation  to  give.” 

“That  was  because  I despaired  of  ever  mak 
ing  clear  to  you  something  that  I can  hardly 


CUPID,  M.D. 


121 


understand  myself.  But  if  you  think  so  badly 
of  me,  perhaps  I had  better  not  attempt  any 
explanation,  after  all.'’  And  I turned  to  leave 
the  room,  for  I was  rapidly  getting  angry. 

‘‘  Lily,  wait  a minute.  I will  be  perfectly 
reasonable  with  you.  You  surely  cannot  ex* 
pect  me  to  be  pleased  with  what  I saw  this 
afternoon." 

**  Papa,  if  I had  ever  misconducted  myself  it 
would  be  different.  But  you  know  perfectly 
well  that  no  one  of  my  gentlemen  friends  has 
ever  taken  a liberty  with  me.  And  mamma 
knows  it,  too." 

The  tears  were  now'  all  ready  to  flow.  Papa 
hates  crying,  but  I couldn't  help  it. 

‘‘Yes,"  said  he,  “you've  always  been  a 
good  girl.  That's  why  I don't  understand  this 
business.  What  had  he  been  saying  to  you  ? " 

“ He  had  been  telling  me  about  his  illness," 
I replied,  between  sobs. 

“ His  illness  ! Why,  child,  that's  one  of  the 


122 


CUPID,  M.D, 


commonest  devices  of  these  plausible  fellows. 
You  shouldn't  be  misled  by  a smooth  exterior. 
Mrs.  Poynter  has  told  your  mother  that  this 
young  man's  habits  are  shocking,  and  that  he 
has  been  noted  for  his  philandering  propen- 
sities." 

Yes,"  I replied  energetically,  and  if  what 
Sarah  hears  is  true,  Mrs.  Poynter  had  better 
look  after  her  own  habits,  instead  of  comment- 
ing on  other  people's.  I know  Mr.  Blake 
much  better  than  she  does." 

Well,  you  may  depend  upon  it  she  is  right 
in  this  instance.  I am  told  that  he  cannot  exist 
without  opium  ; and  I prefer  not  to  have  any 
such  man  dangling  about  you.  You  are  not 
old  enough,  Lily,  to  know  that  attentions  from 
such  men  mean  absolutely  nothing.  They 
coax  and  delude  girls  into  folly,  and  never 
dream  of  honestly  proposing  to  them  ; not  that 
I should  ever  want  him  to  propose  to  you, 
goodness  knows.'* 


CUPID,  M.D, 


123 


‘‘  It  happens  that  you  are  mistaken,  papa, 
for  Mr.  Blake  has  already  proposed  to  me, 
more  than  once/* 

‘‘What?’*  papa  shouted.  “Proposed  to 
you  ? And  when,  pray  ? Without  a word  to 
me  ! And  why  have  I never  been  informed 
of  this  ? ” 

“ Because  you  were  so  unwell,  papa,  that 
we  thought  it  better  not  to  worry  you  with 

• , ft 

it. 

“ ‘ We  ! ’ And  who  does  ‘ we  ’ mean  ? You 
don’t  mean  to  say  you  have  accepted  him  ? ” 

“No,  papa,  I refused  him.  By  ^we’  I meant 
mamma  and  I.  I think  I will  go  to  her  now.” 
And  I went  to  the  door. 

“ You  may  ask  her  if  it  will  be  convenient 
for  her  to  leave  this  place  to-morrow.  Do  you 
hear  ? To-morrow.” 

And  then  I escaped,  and  went  into  mamma’s 
room,  and  she  comforted  me.  What  should  I 
do  without  her  ! I told  her  everything  that 


124 


CUPID,  M,D, 


had  happened.  But  there  was  something  I 
didn’t  tell  even  her. 

So  we  are  to  leave  this  strange  place,  to 
which  I came  with  such  regret ! And  we  are 
going  nobody  knows  where  ! 

Good-by — to  Dudington  ! 


CUPID,  M.D. 


125 


XXIV. 

Eliot  Blake  to  John  Wykeham. 

Dudington,  April  yth. 

Dear  Jack : 

She  is  gone  ! For  a week  I have  not  seen 
her.  I tell  you  what  it  is,  Jack,  if  there  ever 
was  an  angel  on  this  earth,  it  is  that  girl.  You 
haven't  answered  my  last  note,  and  I am  rather 
glad  of  it,  for  thanks  to  a kind  word  from  Lily, 
I have  started  again,  and  this  time  there  must 
be  no  failure,  for  oh,  my  dear  old  man,  I have 
a new  hope  ! A lover's  instinct  is  very  keen, 
and  I would  almost  stake  my  life  on  her  com- 
ing to  love  me,  if  I can  only  succeed  now.  You 
have  no  idea  what  lovely  things  she  said  to  me, 
and  I felt  like  a perfect  brute  all  the  while. 
Her  father  stumbled  upon  us  at  an  unlucky 


126 


CUPID,  M.D, 


moment,  and  looked  daggers  at  me,  but  if  I 
can  only  get  her,  I don’t  care  for  all  the  fathers 
in  Christendom. 

Now,  I swore  by  all  I hold  holy  that  this 
time  I turn  my  back  on  opium  forever.  I have 
said  as  much  before,  but  never  to  her,  and  this 
time  I am  going  to  do  it,  if  it  kills  me.  I am  in 
bed  now,  so  you  will  excuse  a very  shabby  let- 
ter. I am  resolved  to  make  quick  work  of  the 
morphia,  and  have  cut  it  down  tremendously 
the  last  week.  Just  think,  I am  now  taking 
but  two  grains  a day,  one  at  ten  o’clock  in  the 
morning,  and  the  other  at  five  in  the  evening. 
I have  to  take  a sleeping-draught  of  bromides, 
though,  and  my  nerves  are  all  shattered,  as 
my  writing  testifies.  But  it  is  something  of  a 
victory  to  have  cut  the  dose  down  to  this  point. 
Something  ! It  is  almost  everything. 

I have  only  strength  for  a word  more,  for 
though  I write  courageously  I am  very  low,  I 
want  you  to  come  to  me,  now,  at  once,  and 


CUPID,  M.D. 


127 


help  me.  No  matter  what  you  are  doing,  do 
come  down  here.  I need  all  the  help  I can 
get,  and  I cannot  bear  to  be  alone,  for  fear  the 
terrible  stuff  will  master  me.  Yet  I don't  want 
to  give  up  the  supply  I have,  for  that  would  be 
so  cowardly.  I know  I am  asking  a good  deal 
of  you,  but  won't  you  come  ? 

Good  heavens  ! How  I crave  it ! It  seems 
as  if  I couldn't  wait  another  minute.  I feel 
that  sick,  shivering  thrill  all  over  my  skin. 
When  that  is  on  me  I always  think  of  the 
divine  pity  I saw  in  her  face  that  day — that 
gentle,  troubled  look.  I know  that  it  is  almost 
madness  to  hope  for  her  still,  but  I do,  never- 
theless. She  is  my  talisman,  my  star,  my 
guardian  angel.  It  is  hoping  almost  against 
hope,  but  still  I hope  on.  It  is  forever  the  law 
of  my  members  warring  against  the  law  of  my 
mind.  Come  to  me  now,  and  help  me. 

Yours,  as  always, 


E.  B. 


128 


CUPID,  M.D. 


>• 


XXV. 

John  Wykeham  to  Lady  Gore. 

The  Hygienic  Hotel,  April  26,  1878. 
My  Dear  Lady  Gore  : 

I think  he  has  turned  the  corner  now.  I 
send  you  the  notes  I have  taken  during  the 
past  few  days.  I never  saw  such  suffering — 
nor  such  heroism.  He  is  terribly  w^asted  and 
feeble,  but  I believe  there  is  no  doubt  of  his 
pulling  through.  I have  given  him  all  your 
messages,  but  he  begs  me  to  ask  you  not  to 
come  on  at  present. 

I hear  that  the  Pattisons  are  in  the  Isle  of 
Wight.  I am  certain  that  there  was  something 
between  Eliot  and  Miss  Pattison  before  they 
left.  Indeed,  this  Mrs.  Poynter,  whom  I be- 
lieve I mentioned  to  you,  insists  upon  it  that 


CUPID,  M.D. 


129 


Mr.  Pattison  is  very  angry  with  his  daughter 
for  encouraging  Eliot,  and  has  changed  his 
headquarters  in  consequence.  I should  be 
greatly  inclined  to  doubt  this  statement,  as 
she  is  clearly  prejudiced  against  the  girl.  I 
know  well  enough,  from  what  Eliot  has  said 
himself,  that  the  girl  had  shown  him  no  encour- 
agement whatever  up  to  the  time  of  my  last 
visit,  and  she  refused  him  twice,  to  my  knowl- 
edge. And  I think  that  Eliot  would  tell  me  at 
once  if  there  had  been  any  arrangement  or 
understanding  between  them. 

As  you  will  see  from  my  notes,  the  devotion 
of  these  doctors,  especially  in  the  case  of  Dr. 
Rich,  has  been  extraordinary.  Nothing  could 
exceed  their  kindness,  and  we  are  all  a little 
fagged  after  the  terrible  anxiety  of  the  night 
before  last,  so  I will  ask  you  to  excuse  a hurried 
letter,  and  believe  me. 

Yours,  very  faithfully, 

J.  Wykeham. 


9 


130 


CUPID,  M.D. 


I arrived  here  on  the  13th,  but  my  notes 
begin  on  the  i/th,  when  I first  began  to  feel 
anxious. 

April  17th.  Dr.  Rich  informed  me  to-day 
that  the  exact  quantity  of  morphia  Eliot  was 
taking  daily  is  a grain  and  a quarter.  It  is  a 
fearful  strain  upon  the  poor  fellow.  He  won’t 
stay  still  a minute  ; he  seems  to  get  some  relief 
from  kicking  his  legs  in  the  bed,  and  waving 
his  arms  to  and  fro  like  a person  swimming. 
Sometimes  nothing  will  keep  him  in  bed,  and 
he  gets  up  and  paces  the  room  like  a tiger  in 
a cage.  In  fact,  I call  this  “ tigering,”  when  I 
try  and  cheer  him  up  by  making  a little  fun.  I 
read  aloud  to  him  a good  deal,  especially  at 
night,  when  he  is  trying  to  get  to  sleep.  Dr. 
Rich  first  gives  him  a draught  containing  the 
bromides  of  potassium  and  sodium,  hyoscyamus, 
ginger,  etc.,  and  then  I begin  on  one  of  my 
law  briefs,  and  If  that  fails,  I try  Harvey’s 
Meditations.”  The  latter  scarcely  ever  fails  to 


CUPID,  M.D. 


131 

produce  a sound  slumber.  I have  a cot  in  his 
room,  and  Green,  a nurse  he  has  hired  here, 
sleeps  in  the  next  room. 

April  18th.  No  reduction  to-day,  as  Eliot 
passed  a bad  night.  He  was  so  poorly  this 
morning  that  he  asked  for  his  ‘‘  pack  at  eight 
o’clock,  so  we  gave  it  to  him.  This  operation 
consists  in  dipping  a sheet  into  strong  mustard 
water,  and  then  winding  it  round  him  till  he 
resembles  a mummy.  He  likes  it,  and  keeps 
it  on  about  an  hour  and  a half.  Dr.  Rich  says 
it  tones  him  up.  Anything  that  occupies  his 
time  is  of  great  service. 

His  appetite  is  gone  for  the  time  being.  He 
eats  a little  toast  moistened  with  raw  beef-juice, 
with  a little  pepper  and  salt,  but  rarely  any- 
thing more  substantial,  except  a mouthful  of 
egg  now  and  then.  He  has  his  malt  extract, 
and  his  wheat  extract,  and  four  or  five  glasses 
of  port  in  the  course  of  the  day. 

The  one  thing  he  seems  to  enjoy  is  getting 


132 


CUPID,  M.D. 


me  to  talk  about  Miss  P.  That  he  never  tires 
of.  There  is  no  doubt  about  it,  he  really  is  in 
love  at  last.  He  will  enlarge  on  her  perfections 
by  the  hour,  and  I listen  patiently  and  put  in  a 

Yes,  indeed,^'  or  I believe  you,  my  boy,'* 
or  something  of  the  sort  occasionally.  Now, 
Miss  Pattison  is  an  exceptionally  lovely  young 
lady,  but  she  is  not  the  perfect  goddess  Eliot 
makes  her  out  to  be.  Queer.  Wish  I could 
feel  that  way  about  a girl. 

April  19th.  Night.  Eliot  is  awake  and  al- 
most crazy.  This  morning  the  dose  was  cut 
down  to  one  grain  precisely.  He  implored  Dr. 
Rich  to  tell  him  exactly  how  much  he  was  tak- 
ing. Dr.  Rich  was  silent  for  a moment,  but 
Dr.  Peck,  who  was  also  present,  said,  “Just 
one  grain."  Then  Eliot  raised  himself  up,  and 
said  : 

“ Not  another  atom  of  the  stuff  will  I touch. 
Doctor,  do  you  hear  me  ? Not  another  atom." 

They  tried  to  reason  with  him,  assuring  him 


CUPID,  M,D. 


133 


that  it  would  be  easier  to  cut  the  grain  up  into 
tenths,  and  spend  several  days  over  it,  but  he 
wouldn’t  hear  of  it. 

It  would  only  prolong  this  torture,”  said 
he.  I suppose  1 shall  get  used  to  going  with- 
out it  in  time,  shan’t  I ? ” 

They  told  him  that  undoubtedly  he  would, 
but  that  it  would  be  much  harder  for  him  at 
present. 

‘‘  I don’t  care,”  he  replied.  ‘‘I  can’t  stand 
this  suspense  any  longer.  And  no  matter  what 
I suffer  for  a time,  the  delight  of  really  throw- 
ing it  behind  me  will  more  than  make  up  for 
that.” 

So  he  has  had  none  since  ten  o’clock  this 
morning,  and  his  condition  is  truly  pitiable. 
He  could  not  bear  the  reading  to-night,  and 
Dr.  Martin  and  Dr.  Peck  were  almost  on  the 
point  of  giving  him  a little  hydrate  of  chloral, 
but  they  finally  decided  not  to,  as  Dr.  Rich 
was  opposed  to  it.  I agree  with  Rich  that  the 


CUPID,  M,D, 


134 

chloral  might  be  almost  as  bad  as  the  morphia. 
Eliot  settled  it,  however,  without  our  aid,  for 
he  caught  the  word  ‘‘  chloral,’’  and  pricked  up 
his  ears. 

What’s  that  ? Chloral  ? I won’t  take  any 
chloral.  It’s  just  as  bad  as  the  other.” 

Every  hour  he  seems  to  grow  more  restless 
and  miserable.  At  times,  however,  he  will 
shout  out  for  joy  over  his  freedom. 

I shall  do  it  yet ! ” he  exclaimed  just  now. 
‘‘Jack,  do  you  know  why  I wouldn’t  take  the 
chloral  ? She  said  one  day  that  she  thought  it 
a very  dangerous  thing  to  take.” 

“ And  so  it  is,”  said  I.  “ Now  try  and  go  to 
sleep,  old  man.” 

“Sleep!  I feel  as  if  I should  never  sleep 
again.” 

But  the  bromides  finally  told,  and  he  is  now 
dozing  in  a troubled  way,  and  I shall  try  and 
get  some  rest  myself. 

April  20th.  Much  as  yesterday,  except  that 


CUPID,  M.D, 


135 


he  eats  almost  less  than  he  did,  and  is  rather 
weaker. 

April  22d.  The  doctors  are  getting  a little 
anxious,  I think.  Eliot  can  scarcely  retain  any 
nourishment  at  all,  and  his  whole  system  shows 
signs  of  collapse.  They  say  it  is  to  be  ex- 
pected, but  I fancy  they  wish  he  had  not  cut 
off  the  last  grain  so  suddenly.  He  perspires 
profusely  and  is  in  an  agony  of  restlessness. 
He  said  this  morning,  I feel  as  if  the  top  of 
my  head  would  come  off.''  Dr.  Rich  tells  me 
that  this  is  all  natural. 

If  you  muffle  up  the  nerves  with  opium  for 
two  years,"  he  said,  you  must  expect  all  this 
when  you  unmuffle  them.  It  is  a nakedness  of 
the  nerves,  so  to  speak,  and  is  exquisitely  pain- 
ful. You  notice  how  his  eyes  water,  for  in- 
stance. That  is  because  the  lachrymal  gland 
finds  work  so  unusual  that  it  is  working  to  ex- 
cess. I wish  he  could  eat,  though.  We  must 
keep  his  strength  up,  somehow.  I think  I 


136 


CUPID,  M,D, 


must  give  him  a little  brandy.  We  must  look 
out,  however,  that  he  doesn’t  get  up  a fondness 
for  spirits  at  this  juncture.’^ 

I am  nearly  worn  out  myself,  and  am  going 
to  lie  down  for  a bit  and  let  Green  take  a turn. 

April  24th,  or  rather,  April  25th,  as  it  is 
nearly  four  o’clock  A.M.  No  entry  yesterday, 
as  I was  too  anxious.  At  last,  thank  God,  he 
has  taken  some  nourishment.  All  day  yester- 
day he  grew  weaker,  and  toward  evening  be- 
gan to  wander  a little  in  his  head.  The  greater 
part  of  to-day  he  has  been  positively  delirious, 
except  when  taking  his  various  medicines, 
when  he  never  failed  to  ask,  “ Is  there  any 
opium  in  it  ? If  there  is,  I won’t  touch  it. 
Don’t  deceive  me.”  He  seems  to  fancy  that 
we  are  going  to  give  him  a little,  without  his 
knowledge,  to  comfort  him.  It  is  sorrowful  to 
see  him,  a wreck  of  his  old  self,  lying  there, 
talking  incoherently  about  Lily,  and  opium, 
and  everything  under  the  sun.  Every  little 


CUPID,  M.D. 


137 


while  he  will  spout  poetry,  especially  the  lines 
from  Kubla  Khan,'' 

“ Beware  ! Beware  ! 

His  flashing  eyes,  his  floating  hair — ” 

and  so  on  to  the  end — ''  the  milk  of  Paradise," 
when  once  he  burst  out  and  almost  shrieked, 

They  ought  to  call  it  the  milk  of  hell.  But 
poets  never  call  a spade  a spade." 

Yet,  in  all  his  delirium,  his  resolution  has 
never  wavered.  He  has,  apparently,  some 
notion  of  the  state  he  is  in.  Only  once  to-day 
has  he  been  perfectly  coherent  in  his  speech. 

**  Jack,"  he  said,  quickly  and  naturally. 

What  is  it,  dear  old  fellow  ? " I asked. 

If  I die,  tell  her  I stuck  to  it." 

Then  he  went  off  raving  again. 

Green  noticed  a change  to-night,  for  the 
worse,  as  he  thought,  and,  after  a hurried  con- 
sultation, the  doctors  prepared  a strong  dose  of 
capsicum.  Dr.  Rich  said  to  me  : 


CUPID  y M,D. 


If  his  stomach  will  retain  this  a few 
moments,  it  will  give  it  a temporary  tone,  and 
he  may  be  able  to  take  some  nourishment. 
What  is  there  ready  here  ? ” 

I told  him  there  was  some  cold  bouillon  and 
some  milk. 

Just  the  thing,**  he  replied.  Have  a little  " 
of  the  bouillon  ready  in  a wine-glass.” 

Then  he  sat  down  on  the  bed,  and  induced 
Blake  to  sit  up,  telling  him  he  had  some 
sherry  and  bitters  to  give  him  an  appetite. 

Only,**  he  added,  I have  put  a little  dash 
of  cayenne  in  it,  to  tone  you  up.  It’s  a 
sort  of  pick-me-up,  you  know.  Now  drink 
it,  that’s  a good  fellow.  There’s  no  opium 
in  it. 

So  Blake  drank  it,  and  at  once  began  to 
splutter  and  cough  at  a great  rate. 

‘‘By  Jove,”  he  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  he 
could  speak,  “ you’ve  given  me  liquid  fire.” 

“ Lie  down,”  said  the  doctor,  soothingly, 


CUPID,  M,D. 


139 


and  keep  quiet  for  a minute/’  Then,  turning 
to  me,  Give  me  the  wine-glass.” 

He  was  right.  Instantly  Eliot  began  to  com- 
plain, Tm  all  on  fire  inside.  For  pity’s  sake 
give  me  a drink.” 

Here,  take  this  nice  beef-tea,”  said  the 
doctor.  It’s  cold.” 

‘‘Ah,”  said  Eliot,  “that’s  good.  More, 
please.” 

“ No  more  for  a few  minutes,”  said  the  doc- 
tor. “If  you  lie  still  five  minutes,  you  shall 
have  another  drink.” 

So  he  lay  still.  The  second  time  we  gave 
him  a small  quantity  of  milk,  and  kept  alter- 
nating the  two  every  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  for 
a couple  of  hours.  Then  Dr,  Peck  said  : 

The  crisis  is  past  now.  He  will  sleep  soon, 
and  this  nourishment  will  give  him  strength. 
Watch  him  very  closely.”  And  he  went  to 
bed,  leaving  Green,  Dr.  Rich,  and  myself  in 
charge. 


140 


CUPID,  M.D. 


All  night  we  have  cared  for  him.  The  sun  is 
now  rising,  and  I shall  take  a little  rest,  thank- 
ful that  he  is  doing  better. 

April  26th.  Morning.  Thank  Heaven,  ever 
since  that  dose  of  capsicum  Eliot  has  been 
gaining  ground.  His  mind  is  quite  clear 
to-day,  and  he  is  to  have  a little  chicken, 
minced  on  toast.  I find  that  Dr.  Peck  scarcely 
expected  him  to  live  through  that  night.  It 
was  a closer  shave  than  I imagined. 

Eliot  has  just  asked  me  what  day  of  the 
month  it  was.  I told  him, 

‘‘  Five  days  to  spare,*'  he  said,  thoughtfully. 
‘‘  I owe  it  all  to  her.  I wonder  if  she  will  let 
me  thank  her  the  way  I want  to  ? " 

To  which  oracular  reflection  I made  no  reply. 


CUPID,  M.D. 


141 


XXVL 

Eliot  Blake,  Dudington,  to  Miss  Lily  Pattison, 

Care  of  J.  Pattison,  Esq.,  Brown,  Shipley  & Co., 
London,  May  i,  1878. 

I have  kept  my  word.  Thank  God,  I am 
once  more  a free  man.  May  He  ever  bless 
you  for  what  you  have  done  for  me. 


E.  B. 


142 


CUPID,  M,D. 


XXVII. 

Lily’s  Diary. 

Niton,  Isle  of  Wight,  July  27,  1878.  I 
haven’t  written  a word  since  we  have  been 
here.  I have  been  restless  and  nervous  nearly 
all  the  time,  though  if  ever  there  was  a lovely 
spot,  it  is  this.  The  Royal  Sandrock  Hotel, 
as  they  call  the  tiny  house  where  we  are  stay- 
ing, is  as  nearly  as  possible  my  ideal  of  an 
English  inn.  This  part  of  the  Isle  of  Wight  is 
called  the  ‘‘  Undercliff,”  and  our  little  hotel 
nestles  beneath  a wooded  knoll  in  the  most 
picturesque  fashion,  with  many  gables  and 
bays  giving  the  building  a character  of  its 
own.  A porch,  paved  with  red  tiles,  runs 
round  three  sides  of  the  house,  and  ivy  and 


CUPID,  M,D. 


U3 

other  vines  grow  so  thickly  round  the  pillars  as 
to  give  it  the  appearance  of  a veritable  bower. 
This  porch  opens  on  a lawn  such  as  is  seen 
only  in  England,  sloping  down  nearly  to  the 
sea,  with  St.  Catharine’s  lighthouse  (the  south- 
ernmost point  of  the  island)  coming  in  to  add 
interest  to  the  view.  For  hours  together  I sit 
on  this  lovely  lawn,  looking  dreamily  out  to 
sea,  watching  the  yachts  and  the  iron-clads,  for 
the  channel  is  gay  at  this  season. 

We  all  like  it  here.  We  have  hired  a pony- 
chaise  from  the  livery  stable  in  Ventnor,  and 
our  good  landlord  supplies  us  with  a horse  ; 
and  that  poor  old  beast  takes  us  all  over  the 
island.  We  have  seen  nearly  every  church, 
village,  and  chine  to  be  seen.  Mamma  actu- 
ally went  down  Blackgang  Chine,  but  I thought 
she  would  never  get  up  it  again,  and,  as  a con- 
sequence, the  day  we  went  to  Shanklin  she 
refused  to  stir  from  the  carriage.  Papa  is 
nearly  well  enough  to  travel  again,  but  we  are 


144 


CUPID,  M,D. 


all  so  much  in  love  with  this  place  that  we  are 
not  likely  to  move  for  some  time. 

All  those  weeks  and  months  at  Dudington 
seem  like  a dream.  Papa  never  speaks  of  it, 
except  in  the  most  general  way.  I wonder — 
oh,  I wonder  about  a great  many  things.  Per- 
haps it  would  be  better  not  to  wonder  so  much, 
but  I can’t  help  it.  Not  a word  have  I heard 
all  this  time,  since  that  little  note.  And  what 
a queer  note  it  was  ! I wonder  if  he  knows 
where  we  are. 

July  30th.  Alas  ! Alas  ! I felt  all  the  time 
that  something  was  wrong  with  him,  and  now 
we  have  heard.  I fear  there  is  no  doubt  of  his 
having  broken  his  word  to  me  and  going  back 
again  to  that  fatal  drug. 

It  is  strange  that  we  should  have  heard. 
That  must  be  why  he  has  never  written  and 
never  came  near  us.  I fear  it  is  true. 

Th  is  morning  was  so  lovely  that  I induced 
mamma  to  start  with  me  on  the  longest  excur- 


CUPID,  M,D. 


145 


sion  we  have  made  yet,  to  Freshwater,  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  Farringford  and  perhaps  of  Mr. 
Tennyson  himself.  The  drive  is  over  twenty 
miles  each  way,  for  after  we  had  looked  at  the 
house,  or,  rather,  at  the  great  hedge  which  sur- 
rounds it,  we  went  to  see  Alum  Bay  and  the 
Needles.  Then,  when  we  went  into  the  coffee- 
room  of  the  hotel  to  get  some  lunch,  whom 
should  we  encounter,  of  all  the  people  in  the 
world,  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Poynter  ! 

They  greeted  us  with  great  effusion,  and  she 
called  me  Lily  and  kissed  me,  at  which  I was 
greatly  surprised,  for  she  never  got  quite  to 
that  point  at  Dudington.  I can’t  abide  her, 
but  we  had  to  appear  friendly.  We  sat  down 
at  their  table,  though  I insisted  on  paying  for 
what  we  ordered. 

Almost  the  first  thing  she  said  was  that  she 
had  just  come  from  Dudington,  and  that  Mr. 
Blake  was  still  there.  ‘‘  They  won’t  let  him 

go,  you  know,’'  she  added. 

10 


146 


CUPID,  M,D, 


And  why  not  ? I asked. 

Oh,  they  have  lost  all  confidence  in  him 
about  that  opium  habit.  Of  course,  they  haven’t 
told  me  so  in  so  many  words,  but  it’s  easy  to 
put  two  and  two  together.  He  scarcely  speaks 
to  any  one  now,  and  it  is  a recognized  fact  in 
the  house  that  he  has  given  up  all  hopes  of  cur- 
ing himself.’^ 

“ But  why  are  you  so  sure  of  this,  pray  ? ” I 
asked,  with  my  heart  sinking. 

You  know,  my  dear,”  she  replied,  with 
that  odious,  mysterious  smile  of  hers,  one  is 
not  always  justified  in  saying  all  that  one 
knows  on  such  a subject.  I can  assure  you, 
however,  that  I have  very  good  reason  for 
what  I say.  I am  heartily  sorry  for  him — such 
an  accomplished  man  as  he  is.  Lady  Gore  will 
feel  very  badly  about  it,  I fear.” 

Do  you  know  Lady  Gore  ? ” I inquired. 

‘‘Well,  no,”  she  replied,  blushing  a little,  for 
she  had  made  a slip,  “ but  I have  heard  so 


CUPID,  M,D, 


H7 


much  of  her  from  our  mutual  friends  that  I 
almost  feel  as  if  I did/’ 

We  said  nothing  more  about  Mr.  Blake  after 
this.  On  the  drive  home  I thought  it  all  over, 
and  have  come  to  the  sorrowful  conclusion  that 
it  must  be  true.  She  wouldn’t  dare  to  tell  us 
point-blank  lies.  All  those  dreary  miles  I 
couldn’t  talk,  and  mamma  was  so  good,  though 
she  knew  well  enough  why  I was  so  miserable. 
Dear  mamma ! I wonder  if  I shall  ever  be 
anything  like  as  good  as  she  is.  No  use  writ- 
ing any  more. 

August  29th.  Another  month  ! * And  once 
more  news  of  Mr.  Blake.  ’ Oh,  that  lying 
woman  ! The  nasty  hypocrite,  going  about 
and  making  mischief  that  way  ! What  a load 
is  off  my  mind  ! I was  so  foolish  to  believe  a 
word  that  she  said. 

My  news — my  good  news — came  through 
Mr.  Wykeham.  I was  so  glad  to  see  him 
again  ! He  was  so  brown  and  so  jolly,  in  a 


148 


CUPID,  M.D. 


flannel  shirt  and  knickerbockers,  walking  round 
the  island  with  a Mr.  Buchanan,  a friend  of  his, 
who  is  also  very  agreeable,  though  I saw  him 
but  little.  They  had  both  been  to  see  Mr. 
Blake  at  Dudington. 

He  is  so  well,''  said  Mr.  Wykeham',  as  he 
and  I were  sitting  on  the  lawn.  ‘‘  He  is  quite 
his  old  self  again,  and  must  have  gained  thirty 
pounds." 

I felt  a sort  of  thrill.  For  a month  past  I 
had  pictured  him  in  very  different  case.  I said 
I was  very  glad  to  hear  it. 

Yes,"  he  continued  ; of  course  you  know 
what  a struggle  he  has  had  in  abandoning  the 
use  of  morphine  and  similar  anodynes.  I was 
with  him  all  through  the  crisis  of  it,  after  you 
left.  I never  saw  a man  suffer  so.  Once  he 
got  out  of  his  bed  and  would  have  rolled  on  the 
floor,  if  we  had  let  him,  in  perfect  agony.  But 
his  courage  never  wavered.  He  has  never 
touched  opium  since,  and  I am  convinced  he 


CUPID,  M,D, 


149 


never  will  again.  He  has  a deeply  -rooted  dread 
of  it.’’ 

‘‘  Are  you  perfectly  sure  ? ” I asked. 

‘‘  Perfectly,”  he  said. 

‘^Are  you  certain  he  has  never  taken  any 
since — since  the  time  you  speak  of?  ” 

Absolutely  certain.  Why,  have  you  any 
reason  to  think  otherwise  ? ” 

I hesitated.  In  a moment,  however,  I re- 
solved to  tell  him  what  I had  heard.  So  I gave 
him  a short  account  of  my  meeting  with  Mrs. 
Poynter. 

He  got  up  and  paced  a few  steps  indignantly. 

I suppose  it  is  natural  that  you  should  credit 
her  yarns,”  he  said,  for  it  is  scarcely  possible 
for  you  to  know  what  a singular  person  she  is 
in  some  respects.  I don’t  like  to  say  such  hard 
things  of  any  one,  but  I cannot  see  Blake  slan- 
dered by  her  without  telling  you  that  it  is 
absolutely  impossible  for  that  woman  to  tell  the 
truth.  She  is  an  inveterate  gossip  into  the 


CUPID,  M,D. 


150 

bargain,  and  apparently  enjoys  spreading  false 
rumors  about  her  acquaintances.  What  she 
says  about  Blake  is  utterly  untrue.  I know 
him  as  I know  the  palm  of  my  hand,  and  I say 
it  is  utterly  untrue.  He  never  told  a lie  to  my 
knowledge,  and  not  three  days  since  he  was 
saying  what  a relief  it  was  to  have  done  with 
the  morphia  and  all  the  substitutes,  and  to  be 
able  to  go  to  sleep  naturally  at  night,  and  all 
the  rest  of  it.  Besides,  the  doctors  would 
know  in  a minute  if  he  had  relapsed  into  the 
habit  again.  Dr.  Martin  told  me  that  a man 
once  cured  of  this  habit  very  rarely  went  back 
to  it.  They  get  afraid  of  it,  you  know.’’ 

But  why  does  he  stay  on  there  ? ” I asked. 

Merely  because  they  thought  the  regular 
regimen  of  the  house,  and  the  quiet  life,  would 
be  beneficial  to  him.  The  Gores  were  there  in 
May,  and  advised  him  to  stay  by  all  means. 
Oh,  it’s  outrageous  that  a woman  can  make 
trouble  this  way.  She  is  pretty  impartial, 


CUPID,  M.D. 


though.  I don’t  doubt  she  has  said  equally 
bad  things  about  me.  Indeed,  I could  give 
you  one  or  two  tolerably  spicy  specimens  of 
remarks  she  has  made  about  you — that  is, 
about  your  people.” 

‘‘  About  us  ? ” I exclaimed.  ‘‘  What  in  the 
world  has  she  found  to  say  about  us  ? ” 

‘‘  I only  remember  one  accurately,  but  there 
were  several.  She  said,  for  example,  that  your 
father’s  sciatica  was  all  a humbug,  and  that  the 
real  reason  why  you  were  all  at  Dr.  Martin’s 
was  his  confirmed  intemperance,  which  was 
breaking  your  mother’s  heart.  What  do  you 
think  of  that  ? ” 

We  both  burst  out  laughing,  but  my  cheeks 
flamed. 

I shouldn’t  repeat  such  a disagreeable  re- 
mark, except  to  prove  to  what  lengths  that 
woman’s  love  of  slander  will  carry  her.  Pray 
don’t  think  for  an  instant  that  any  one  would 
be  so  foolish  as  to  believe  her.” 


152 


CUPID,  M,D. 


should  hope  not/*  I said.  Oh,  how 
angry  I was  with  her  ! Saying  such  a thing 
about  papa  ! 

Then  Mr.  Wykeham,  seeing  my  vexation, 
changed  the  subject,  and  went  on  to  give  me  a 
little  more  news  of  Mr.  Blake. 

He  is  much  saddened  and  sobered  by  all 
he  has  gone  through.  A great  change  has 
come  over  him.  It  is  scarcely  to  be  wondered 
at.  You  ought  to  hear  those  doctors  talk  about 
him.  They  say  there  has  never  been  such  a 
cure  in  their  experience.  They  followed  out  a 
regular  system  of  reductions  of  his  opium  dose, 
you  know,  and  Dr.  Rich  told  me  that  they  cut 
it  off  at  a great  rate  at  one  time.  I felt  sure 
that  he  could  do  it,  all  the  time,  for  I know  the 
strength  of  his  will.  Everything  that  he  has 
ever  set  his  heart  on,  since  he  was  a boy,  he 
has  succeeded  in — that  is,  if  it  involved  the 
will.** 


Everything  ?**  I asked. 


CUPID,  M.D. 


153 


Everything/'  he  replied,  looking  me  fair  in 
the  face. 

He  has  a very  warm  friend  in  you,  Mr. 
Wykeham,"  I said. 

‘‘  Yes/'  said  he,  ‘‘  we  have  lived,  and  loved, 
and  fought,  and  travelled,  and  eaten,  and  drunk 
together  for  a good  many  years  now.  I have 
hundreds  of  acquaintances,  but  I can  count  my 
intimate  friends  on  one  hand,  and  have  a finger 
or  two  to  spare  at  that.  A friend  that  one  can 
trust  through  thick  and  thin,  in  evil  report  and 
good  report,  as  I can  Blake,  is  the  rarest  bird  I 
have  ever  encountered.  It  is  the  greatest  relief 
to  me  in  the  world  to  think  that  he  is  at  last 
emancipated  from  that  awful  habit." 

We  sat  a long  time  talking  and  looking  out 
on  the  sea.  When  I went  in  I told  mamma  all 
about  it,  especially  what  Mrs.  Poynter  had  / 
said.  She  will  tell  papa.  That  is  the  way  I 
always  communicate  with  papa  when  there  isj 
anything  special. 


154 


CUPID,  M.D. 


XXVIII. 

John  Wykeham  to  Eliot  Blake. 

The  Bedford  Hotel,  Brighton, 
September  5,  1878. 

My  Dear  Eliot : 

I have  been  meaning  to  write  to  you  for  two 
or  three  days  past,  but  Buchanan  and  I have 
been  on  a walk,  and  I have  postponed  it  from 
day  to  day  in  my  usual  fashion.  We  have  been 
in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  struck  the  Pattisons 
at  a little  place  called  Niton.  They  are  stay- 
ing at  the  Sandrock  inn. 

You  will  perceive  that  I have  some  motive  in 
favoring  you  with  this  epistle,  and  you  will  be 
right.  I had  a long  conversation  with  the 
young  lady  herself,  and  discovered  that  Mad- 
ame Poynter,  with  her  usual  sweet-scented 


CUPID,  M,D. 


155 

candor,  had  been  treating  the  Pattison  party 
to  a singularly  unique  tarradiddle.  It  appears 
that  in  a chance  encounter  not  long  since  she 
informed  them  that  you  had  again  relapsed 
into  the  habit  you  have  so  successfully  aban- 
doned, and  that  your  case  had  been  pro- 
nounced hopeless  by  all  your  doctors  and  rela- 
tives. I need  not  say,  my  dear  fellow,  that  I 
lost  no  time  in  contradicting  such  a falsehood 
as  emphatically  as  I could.  I even  went  so  far 
as  to  quote  one  of  the  choicest  Poynter  fabri- 
cations, about  Mr.  Pattison  having  delirium 
tremens,  and  all  that.  You  remember?  I also 
took  occasion,  like  the  model  Pythias  that  I 
am,  to  sound  your  praises  in  the  most  unblush- 
ing manner.  I piled  it  on,  I can  tell  you. 
Well,  the  long  and  short  of  it  is  that  I advise 
you  to  give  these  lies  their  most  emphatic  refu- 
tation by  presenting  yourself  at  Niton  in  per- 
son. I think  it  would  be  better. 

Another  thing : unless  I am  • greatly  mis- 


CUPID,  M.D. 


156 

taken,  the  girl  takes  more  of  an  interest  in  you 
than  you  think.  I attribute  your  present  des- 
pondent state  almost  entirely  to  the  reaction 
that  must  inevitably  attend  the  peculiar  effort 
you  so  lately  made.  If  you  had  the  courage  to 
ask  her  when  you  were  at  your  lowest,  why  not 
ask  her  now,  when  you  have  proved  yourself  a 
true  man  ? Of  course,  I am  only  surmising. 
You  know  as  well  as  I can  tell  you  that  she 
made  no  sign.  I may  be  all  wrong,  but  I 
surely  fancied  I detected  something  in  her 
voice  that  evening — some  unconscious  note  of 
sympathy  and  tenderness.  She  is  as  charm- 
ing as  ever,  full  of  loveliness  and  grace,  with 
the  same  delicious  earnestness  in  her  eyes. 

Now,  if  I haven't  done  the  whole  duty  of  a 
man,  may  I be  hung,  drawn,  and  quartered. 
As  a friend,  I regard  myself  as  warranted  to 
suit  the  most  fastidious.  Let  me  hear  from  you 
soon. 

Yours  always,  Jack. 


CUPID,  M,D, 


157 


XXIX. 

Eliot  Blake  to  John  Wykeham. 

The  Crab  and  Lobster,  Ventnor,  I.  of  W., 
September  9,  1878. 

Here  I am,  my  dear  Jack,  as  you  see.  I 
started  as  soon  as  I could  arrange  to  leave,  and 
have  put  up  here,  as  I did  not  want  to  be  in 
the  same  house  with  them  under  existing  cir- 
cumstances. 

I have  been  out  there,  but  I didn’t  see  her. 
I have  had  a strange  talk  with  her  father,  and 
I am  at  this  moment  on  the  crisis  of  my  fate. 
My  heart  is  very  full.  Shall  I open  it  to  you, 
my  old  and  tried  friend  ? I am  alone  in  a 
strange  room,  the  soft  salt  air  is  blowing  in  the 
window,  and  I can  hear  the  breakers  rolling  in 


158 


CUPID,  M,D. 


through  the  stillness  of  the  night.  I cannot 
sleep.  I may  as  well  write. 

First,  let  me  tell  you  of  the  day.  I caught 
the  eleven  o’clock  boat  from  Portsmouth  to 
Ryde,  and  came  on  here  by  train.  Then  I 
hired  a trap  and  drove  to  Niton,  where  I en- 
countered the  old  gentleman  himself,  sitting  in 
a sea  chair  on  the  lawn.  He  was  decidedly 
frosty  in  his  manner,  and  when  I inquired  for 
the  ladies,  informed  me  that  they  were  gone  to 
London  for  a day’s  shopping.  After  a few 
unimportant  remarks,  I resolved  to  plunge  at 
once  ill  inedias  res, 

Mr.  Pattison,”  I said,  you  are  doubtless 
surprised  to  see  me  here.” 

He  replied  with  some  polite  commonplace, 
but  I could  see  that  my  presence  was  not 
altogether  an  unmixed  joy.  He  and  I have 
never  taken  to  one  another  much,  as  you  may 
have  noticed.  I thoroughly  respect  him,  and 
consider  him  by  far  the  best  specimen  of  an 


CUPID,  M,D. 


159 


elderly  American  I ever  met  ; but  I am  not 
sufficiently  well  up  in  scientific  subjects  to  be 
good  company  to  him.  He  is  quite  a student 
of  social  ethics,  also,  and  the  only  topics  on 
which  we  have  been  able  to  talk  with  any 
special  interest  were  the  condition  of  my 
miners,  and  distinctions  of  political  or  social 
usage  in  this  country,  or  something  of  that  sort. 
Now,  however,  when  I had  a definite  purpose 
in  view,  it  was  a different  matter.  The  reality 
of  the  whole  situation  flashed  upon  me.  You 
well  know  that  I am  not  given  to  want  assur- 
ance, but  I confess  I found  some  difficulty  in 
saying  what  I had  to  say.  The  real  trouble, 
back  of  it  all,  is  the  sense  of  my  own  unworthi- 
ness. When  I asked  her  before,  I was  probably 
all  braced  up  with  opium.  Since  my  recovery 
I have  felt  a strange  diffidence  about  asking  her 
again  ; I might  almost  say  I shrunk  from  it, 
ardently  as  I love  her  ; yet  here  I was  confront- 
ing her  own  father. 


i6o 


CUPID,  M.D, 


I am  anxious  to  speak  to  you  for  a few 
moments  on  a subject  that  to  me,  at  least,  is 
of  the  utmost  importance/'  My  voice  trem- 
bled a little,  but  it  passed  off  in  a moment. 

May  I ask  for  a few  minutes  in  private  with 
you  ? " 

Certainly,  Mr.  Blake,"  he  replied,  rather 
ceremoniously.  Walk  into  our  sitting-room." 

When  we  were  comfortably  seated,  I began  : 

What  I have  to  say,  Mr.  Pattison,  can  be 
said  in  a very  few  words.  I love  your  daugh- 
ter, and  am  here  to-day  to  ask  your  permission 
to  pay  her  my  addresses." 

There  was  a moment  of  ominous  silence. 

Unless  I am  misinformed,  Mr.  Blake,  you 
have  already  done  so  without  my  permission." 

That  is  true,"  I answered,  but  I believe 
such  a course  is  common  enough.  In  England 
a man  very  rarely  speaks  to  the  young  lady’s 
father  until  he  has  come  to  some  sort  of  under- 
standing with  the  young  lady  herself,  and  I 


CUPID,  M.D. 


i6i 


imagined  that  in  America  such  matters  were 
rather  less  rigidly  defined  than  here/’ 

‘‘And  have  you  come  to  any  definite  under- 
standing with  my  daughter  ? ” 

“ None  whatever,”  I replied,  “ and  I am  bound 
to  say  that  she  has  never  shown  me  any  en- 
couragement.” 

But  did  I not  once  see  you  in  rather  a 
compromising  situation  at  Dudington  ? ” 

I expected  this.  I don’t  believe  I ever  told 
you  about  that  little  event. 

“ Mr.  Pattison,  I remember  what  you  refer 
to,  but  I cannot  give  you  any  explanation  of  it 
that  would  be  satisfactory  to  you.  I can  only 
say  that  the  moment  when  I allowed  myself  to 
be  carried  beyond  due  bounds  was  no  fault  of 
hers,  nor  in  any  way  the  result  of  anything  she 
had  said  to  me.  I was  very  weak  at  that  time. 
I was  scarcely  master  of  my  own  actions.  I am 
very  much  afraid  that  you  do  not  regard  me 
with  much  favor,  Mr.  Pattison.  Of  course  I 


CUPID,  M.D. 


162 

feel  that  in  one  sense  your  daughter  is  far  be- 
yond and  above  me  ; you  could  say  nothing 
that  could  make  me  realize  that  more  fully  than 
I do  ; but  at  the  same  time  I cannot  but  hope 
that  my  very  love  for  her  will  make  me  worthier 
of  her,  and  as  regards  ordinary  matters,  per- 
haps something  might  be  said  in  my  favor.  I 
am  a member  of  the  Church  of  England,  I am 
a gentleman  by  birth  and  education,  I have 
always  lived  reputably,  as  Sir  William  and  Lady 
Gore  would  testify,  and  my  means  are  sufficient 
to  justify  me  in  marrying.’*  Here  I proceeded 
to  give  him  some  statistics  about  the  money 
matters. 

‘‘  Mr.  Blake,”  he  said,  finally,  interrupting 
me,  “you  will  excuse  me,  but  it  is  scarcely 
possible  that  you  should  understand  my  wishes 
about  my  girl.  She  is  a good  girl,  and  a great 
comfort  to  me,  and  is  old  enough  to  think  of 
her  establishment  in  life.  My  only  wish  is  to 
secure  her  happiness.  I do  not  dispute  any  of 


CUPID,  M.D, 


these  things  you  mention.  I have  a great  re- 
spect for  Sir  William  Gore,  and,  of  course,  for 
Lady  Gore  also,  though  I don’t  know  her  so 
well.  I should  think  your  means  were  ample. 
But  there  are  still  one  or  two  points  which 
naturally  present  themselves.  Supposing  Lily 
were  to  accept  you,  where  would  be  her 
home?  ” 

We  argued  this  question  back  and  forth  for 
some  time.  To  me  it  is  of  very  little  conse- 
quence. He  appeared  to  think  otherwise. 
What  earthly  difference  does  it  make  ? Of 
course  I shouldn’t  want  her  to  give  up  all  her 
friends  and  relatives  in  the  States.  My  idea 
would  be  to  lead  a semi-international  life.  If  I 
win  her,  she  will  be  country,  and  home,  and 
everything  else  to  me. 

You  will  note  that  so  far  he  had  made  no  al- 
lusion to  the  strongest  objection  of  all.  I 
knew  that  it  could  not  be  avoided,  so  I thought 
I would  take  the  bull  by  the  horns. 


164 


CUPID,  M.D. 


There  is,’’  I said,  as  you  may  be  aware, 
one  ground  upon  which  a serious  charge  can 
be  made,  or  perhaps  I am  now  justified  in  say* 
ing  could  have  been  made  against  me.  I pre- 
sume you  know  what  I refer  to  ? ” 

‘‘  You  mean  the  opium  habit  ? ” 

I bowed. 

I was  going  to  speak  to  you  about  that, 
Mr.  Blake,  and  am  glad  that  you  introduced 
the  subject.  My  principal  information  touch- 
ing it  was  derived  from  Mrs.  Poynter,  and  I 
have  had  occasion  myself  to  suffer  from  her 
slanderous  remarks,  so  that  I am  inclined  to 
mistrust  anything  she  may  say  about  others.” 

“ It  is  all  true,  Mr.  Pattison.  I mean,  the 
fact  is  true.  Probably  she  colored  her  version 
of  my  case  pretty  highly,  as  is  her  habit,  so 
pray  allow  me  to  tell  you  the  simple  truth 
about  it.” 

I then  gave  him  the  whole  history  of  it  all. 
We  went  into  the  veriest  details,  and  he  really 


CUPID,  M,D. 


165 


became  quite  interested,  as  if  it  had  no  bear- 
ing on  Lily. 

‘‘  It  certainly  does  you  great  credit,'’  he  said, 
finally.  But  I suppose  the  question  now 
hinges  on  your  ability  to  abstain  from  opium  in 
future." 

‘‘  I am  bound  by  the  most  solemn  pledges 
never  to  touch  it.  I can  give  you  nothing  but 
my  own  assurance,  but  if  you  knew  how  I feel 
about  this  opium  you  would  never  give  it  a 
thought,  I am  sure.  Nothing  on  earth  could 
ever  induce  me  to  touch  it.  Besides,  your 
friend.  Dr.  Martin,  will  tell  you  that  a man 
once  cured  of  that  habit,  rarely,  if  ever,  returns 
to  it.  I have  a genuine  dread  of  its  power.  It 
weighed  me  down  as  if  it  had  been  a millstone 
round  my  neck.  What  is  that  story — ‘ The 
Iron  Shroud’?  You  remember  it?  Well, 
that  wretched  prisoner,  when  he  saw  the  walls 
of  his  dungeon  closing  upon  him,  did  not  suffer 
more  than  I when  I saw  my  daily  dose  increas- 


CUPID,  M,D. 


1 66 

ing  and  felt  myself  powerless  to  stop  it.  Do 
you  think  I could  ever  again  yield  myself  to 
the  clutches  of  such  an  accursed  master  ? 
Never.  And  who  has  made  it  possible  for  me 
to  do  this  ? Lily  ! I could  never  have  done  it 
without  her.  She  has  been  my  good  angel, 
and  do  you  suppose  there  is  a man  alive  who 
could  love  her  as  I do  ? You  see  I give  my- 
self as  hostage.  Let  me  have  but  one  chance 
with  her  now,  at  once,  and  that  is  all  I ask.” 

Rather  high  ground  this  to  take,  but  assur- 
ance always  begets  assurance.  He  evidently 
wavered.  I fancied  I could  see  what  was  pass- 
ing through  his  mind,  and  with  many  arguments 
and  pleadings  I followed  up  what  I had  said. 
The  old  gentleman  seemed  to  grow  a little 
tender-hearted  himself.  I think  my  earnestness 
worked  upon  him.  He  touched  me  very  much 
when  he  opened  his  heart  a little  about  her. 

She  is  my  only  child,”  he  said.  ‘‘  From  the 
day  of  her  birth  she  has  been  the  very  light  of 


CUPID,  M.D, 


167 


my  eyes.  I am  often  hasty  with  her,  as  I am 
somewhat  quick  of  temper,  but  she  knows  what 
I think  of  her.  As  I say,  my  only  wish  is  to 
secure  her  happiness.’’ 

Well,  the  long  and  short  of  it  is  that  though 
he  may  not  give  in  immediately,  I feel  quite 
justified  in  speaking  to  her  again.  He  didn’t 
say  no,  nor  did  he  say  yes.  He  took  some 
time  to  think  it  over,  and  finally  said  he  must 
speak  to  her  before  anything  was  arranged. 
But  I gathered  that  if  it  should  be  her  decided 
wish  to  accept  me  he  would  not  oppose  it.  So 
I shall  go  over  to-morrow  and  try  my  fate. 

Jack,  this  time  settles  it.  I once  thought 
that  I should  keep  on  asking  her  until  she  ac- 
cepted me,  but  I feel  differently  now.  If  she 
refuses  me  to-morrow  it  is  forever.  I am  in 
two  minds  about  going  over  there.  Perhaps  it 
would  be  better  to  write  a word.  They  get 
back  from  London  to-night.  You  see  I don’t 
exactly  like  the  idea  of  talking  her  into  it.  If 


CUPID,  M.D. 


1 68 

she  loves  me,  she  knows  it,  and  she  will  tell 
me.  She  once  said  to  me,  You  have  such  a 
convincing  way  when  you  are  talking,  but 
when  I am  alone  things  are  so  different.  When 
I am  with  you  I think  one  thing ; when  I am 
alone  I am  very  apt  to  think  another.’'  Now 
if  that  is  the  case  I want  her  to  make  up  her 
mind  by  herself.  I don’t  care  to  win  my  Gene- 
vieve by  any  arts.  The  surrender  must  be 
complete,  but  it  must  be  voluntary.  I only 
hope  I am  not  building  too  much  upon  what 
you  fancied  you  saw. 

What  will  become  of  me  if  she  refuses  me  ? 
I cannot  tell.  I should  not  feel  any  inclination 
to  go  to  the  dogs,  or  anything  of  that  kind,  it 
would  be  so  cowardly  and  unworthy  of  the  love  I 
bear  her.  I think  I should  hire  Gordon’s  yacht, 
which  he  has  offered  me,  and  go  to  the  East. 
I have  never  seen  Constantinople.  Perhaps  new 
faces  might  distract  me.  I certainly  should 
never  wish  to  see  any  friends  ; not  even  you. 


CUPID,  M.D, 


169 


But  why  do  I talk  of  failure  ? Is  love  like 
mine  to  fail  ? Can  it  be  possible  that  this  great, 
sweet,  holy  love  is  to  come  to  nought  ? Am  I 
to  go  through  the  world  unblessed  with  the  one 
thing  I crave  with  all  my  soul  and  strength  ? 
No  ! I must  succeed  ! And  when  she  gives 
me  herself,  then  I can  repay  her.  Then  I can 
consecrate  to  her  every  thought,  and  “ com- 
pass her  about  with  sweet  observances,'’  and 
love  her  and  cherish  her  to  the  end.  I will 
shower  on  her  all  that  art  and  taste  can  make 
beautiful ; we  will  explore  together  the  world 
itself.  What  would  the  sky,  and  the  grass,  and 
the  trees  be  to  me  but  for  her  ? Nature  shall 
yield  us  all  her  treasures  ; music  shall  minister 
to  our  delight ; the  poets  shall  be  our  com- 
panions. 

“ ’Tis  sweet  to  tread  the  scented  heather, 

’Tis  sweet  to  brave  both  wind  and  weather, 

*Tis  sweet  to  pass  through  life  together, 

And  this  we’ll  do,  my  love  and  I.” 


CUPID,  M.D. 


170 

The  night  wanes.  A bright  streak  flames  in 
the  East.  Does  this  rose  of  dawn  her 
the  day  that  is  to  bring  my  rose  to  me  ? 
Good-by. 


Eliot. 


CUPID,  M.D. 


171 


XXX. 

Eliot  Blake  to  Lily  Pattison. 

Ventnor,  September  loth. 

You  know  why  I am  here.  But  I do  not 
wish  to  look  upon  your  face  unless  it  can  be 
forever  mine.  Whatever  your  answer  is  to  be, 
I shall  wait  for  it  here.  A word  will  be  enough. 

E.  B. 


172 


CUPID,  M.D. 


XXXL 


Lily  Pattison  to  Eliot  Blake. 


Come  ! 


September  loth. 


Lily. 


THE  END. 


. / 


4 


